Her Story

"So?"

"So, what?"

"So, tell me about her."

"What do I tell you?"

"Start from the beginning."

"Do I tell you about her adorable quietness when born? About how the whole room stands dumb witness to the pristine beauty that is she. About how she Sparks the dreams of her parents right from the moment she's born. Or do I tell you about when she starts to walk? Or when she starts to talk? Do I tell you about her million questions to her father? About her emotional maturity way beyond her years. About her childish petulance and and cranky tantrums. About her prissy orderliness and gay abandon. Or should I go a little further, when she becomes old enough to know, yet young enough to learn. When she shies from initiative, yet embraces responsibility. When the tags "nerd" and "geek" hang high over her head, yet revels in the smell of grit and dust. When she is not the most pretty, yet she is the most beautiful. Or a little further, to the tempestuous age of adolescence. Do I tell you how she feels? How she does not know what to feel? She feels love and hate, happiness and sadness, wonder and dryness, apathy and empathy. She feels tired yet full of energy. She explores, she falls in love, she gets her heart broken, she learns. She learns a lot. Not just about numbers and devices, but about people and feelings. Do I tell you what happens next? Do I tell you about her smile? Do I tell you about her eyes, that would bedazzle any man? Do I tell about the way she talks? I could, but I would be rendered speechless. Do I tell you about the girl in love? The girl that is your companion. The girl that is your friend. The girl who gives you a shoulder to cry on. The girl that would scold you if you do wrong, yet surprise you on your birthday. A mature woman comes into the world. One that shoulders the responsibility of the family while conforming to the societal burdens. She spends time with her friends, yet treasures every moment she helps her mother in the kitchen, or Everytime she argues with her father about cricket. Then comes marriage. Do I tell you if she remains the same? Does she put herself first? Would you believe me if I tell you that she doesn't? Would you believe me if I told you that she becomes the most selfless person on Earth? Do I tell you about how she takes care of her little ones? Do I tell you about how she forgoes her pleasures so that her family can enjoy? About how even if she doesn't work, she can never be paid enough. About how some things are priceless, like her love for her children. About how she sacrifices the rest of her youth, for her children. The woman who champions her children's every little drawing, poem, action, anything. Then while the throes of old age wait, she walks in dignified, with her head held high, and the villian that is lethargy beats a hasty retreat. She dances at parties, weddings, belying her age. She Pampers every child, and puts that extra roti on her grandkids plate even after he protests that he's full. She ages like wine, gracefully. And despite her joking demeanor about death, she is the life of the party. Then.....then it goes off. Peacefully, in her sleep. It is not sudden, yet the sadness hits like a rock. The family collapses in grief. The millions of lives she's touched shed tears. Many proclaim that she lives on, even after her death. For while the world may have lost a woman, but the family has lost a part of it's soul."

God looked at the death, his mouth agape.

"And that... Is her story." Death finished, as he looked at the peaceful looking grandmother on the bed.

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