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Manas Gupta

Drama Tragedy


4  

Manas Gupta

Drama Tragedy


How I Remember Her

How I Remember Her

2 mins 25.3K 2 mins 25.3K


I don’t know if these are memories or dreams or maybe some things that I just imagined but they are comforting.


I recall a faint smell of dust, sandalwood and neem blended with sunshine, with my tiny hands holding onto something big; strong but gentle. I can’t make out a face, it is blurred: but her floral, yellow-orange sari is caressing my face and her bangles create undulating notes piquing my excitement. As I go deeper into this trance, I see her hands, her pale skin, almost translucent, has spots and her veins look like cracks on an ice sheet somewhere in the ocean; but they are warm to touch.


I remember a face; it is aged but has so much vigour that I can feel the aura every time she holds me up. I remember her gentle grip as my legs falter; she lifts me before my knees scrape the floor. I remember her singing while rubbing my head, how my arms and legs ache for her touch. I remember how she opens her round mouth to feed me. I remember the smell of soap as a towel slips away and opens a new day for me. I see her brush her hair after cleaning me. I remember the huge bundle of keys that jingle on her waist and her soft peppery hair that always gets stuck between my fingers. I remember always searching for that jingle.


I remember her swinging a small fan and telling me a story in candlelight, her voice now weaker. I remember her shouting from the kitchen; her waiting on the table when everyone had eaten and left. I remember her putting the last roti on my plate. I remember her walking into my room on a cold night and putting another blanket on. I remember her kissing my face and caressing my head.


I remember her now being smaller, her hands becoming frailer and her hair now all silver. I remember her spending more time on her chair and her bed, still smiling at my small feats. I remember someone leaving the house and I remember now she always wears white. The keys on her waist weigh her down and her dark eyes are slowly turning grey. I remember her handing the keys to someone, her hunch now making her even smaller. I remember her coughing at night.

I remember leaving her behind, this I remember most; her face all smiles and praises, maybe I looked back or maybe I imagined it.


I see a resting face in front of me now, shrouded in white. Through my tears, I place the last log on the pyre.



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