The clock strikes five.⠀
It is time for tea.⠀
She likes the beverage lukewarm with some cardamom.
I know all that because
she keeps on repeating the same things to me, over and over again.⠀
But it never gets boring, you know?⠀
⠀
I love the way her eyes glitter up when she tells me about her life. The day she bunked the English class with her friends, or the day she first saw his face.⠀
Oh, it was love at first sight.⠀
⠀
Their story was innocent,
full of mistakes but always forgiving.⠀
It was a love story you'd probably only dream about.⠀
She tells me all these stories as we sit on the balcony. ⠀
The cool breeze brushes against our faces and plays with her beautiful silky hair as she narrates the incidents like a keynote speaker and I listen attentively. ⠀
⠀
Oh dear, I just love her.⠀
But there are days — dark ones — when she opens up about how he abandoned her.⠀
"He told me he got a placement in a big company, and that he'd always come back for me. I was so excited, and sad as well but … I knew he loved me, and so I let him go.
“I did the right thing, na?"⠀
⠀
I nod my head as always.⠀
⠀
The clock strikes six, and it's time for her serials.⠀
Netflix? Nope.⠀
Zee TV.⠀
⠀
Halfway through the serial, at precisely 6:10 PM, she will give me that confused look, and ask me, "Do you think he'll ever come back?"⠀
"Obviously. He's your son. He will come back," I smile back as I answer the exact same question for the thousandth time.⠀
She turned 72 yesterday, and I make sure she takes her pills regularly, even though they seem to have no effect at all on her Alzheimer's.⠀
It's hard to see her struggle but I manage. Somehow.⠀
⠀
I surprise her with my homecoming again, exactly at 7 PM.⠀
She tears up out of excitement and joy, and hugs me tightly, perhaps ensuring I never go away again.⠀
⠀
I make sure she falls asleep at 10 PM, but of course, by then she'll have forgotten all of this, and I'll have become the house servant once again.⠀
She still prays to have him back, every single night.
⠀
And I fulfill that wish, every single day.
So many memories, locked inside of us
but at the end, we're just stories.
Aren't we?
-Anonymous
[Edited by Debaruna Bhattacharjee
Art Curated by Esha Yadav and Mehak Aggarwal]
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