Family Short Story – One More Day to Go On!
Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com
Every morning when I wake up, my eyes open facilely but involuntarily, and a deep sigh spreads over my face. I turn around my neck, away from the pillow and then on seeing a clean bed around, I smile to myself. Then I close the heavy windows again and get lost into my deep thoughts again. Then suddenly, a sweet strain rings into my ears and I murmur to myself “It is time to wake up!” I throw away my blanket in haste and jerk up my butt to sit up straight. I sit upright silently, with both my legs folded, touching my chest and my hands around my legs, solacing them. Then I turn towards my left, over the other bed which is closely placed to the window. I see a body there, motionless and still, turned towards it left. I rearrange my bed and then I rove slowly towards the other end. A cold fear runs up my spine every morning as I see the body lying there right in front of my eyes, motionless and still.
A dark dagger hangs over my heart as I move there every morning. A cold delirium pricks my mind. I gather a lot of strength from the sun and I walk towards it. The golden curtains smothering the window remain as motionless. I pass through them, and open the glass window and feel a cool zephyr caressing my hand. And then the gauzy things start moving, dancing with the air; and I push them aside and let the warming sunshine fall all over the house. The room illuminates and I glance at the body, still cold and pale. A gloom spreads over my face. But then suddenly, I stare at the body closely. I see the belly running up and down slowly. Then I sigh and laugh and get along my day.
Life is implausible; no one ever knows what might happen next. At a moment there is happiness spread all around while the next moment, you never know if it will ever come back again. I live with my grandparents in a city, accompanied by my parents. I love to live with them. But occasionally, they both take retreat to our hamlet for field works and that time passes along very difficultly for me. The memories that I have gathered till now in the twenty-five year old journey of my life, with them, just cherish my heart and make me smile even in the most knotty problems. They have always stood by my side and have always been there for me. Their sense of care and love was quite humiliating for me, but as I grew mature, I desired for them more.
During childhood, my mind was free of prejudice. I didn’t care about a thing then, I only wanted fun around. And then, for me fun was lost in playing in the gardens with my grandpa every evening and listening to the stories at night from my grandma’s dry lips. When I was two, I pissed on my grandpa when he was holding me in his hands. Every night he reminds me of my deed and I roll down in laughter. While I was very young, I didn’t care of these two people, but now it feels as if I can’t bear the cost of losing them even though I know that the time is not very far. I remember how our bond became strong, from nowhere to something solid and real.
I still remember the games we used to play, the rides we used to had, the fun we used to do. But now, things are halting, coming to a stop and I don’t want that to happen. I can still see them smile, laugh, but their grin has become weaker and dull. I just feel I wouldn’t have wasted my leisure time then, because now I really have time left for them. Now I am close to them, but still very far. I can’t feel them, I can’t sit beside them, the time I can see them is just only when I am in bed.
My mom suggested me to have a separate room after my tenth birthday, but I ran back after the twelfth, back to my old dwelling, amidst my grandparents. I just couldn’t afford wasting any left time with them. I remember my grandmother caressing me during nights and kissing me after her stories ended. It felt awkward then and I used to wipe her saliva off my cheeks when she would turn back, but now I desire for it more, but now she had stopped doing so, because now I have grown up. Now I can just feel her rough hands rolling lightly over my cheeks and I can feel her warm tears falling apart. They always loved me, but maybe I couldn’t love them back constantly. Sometimes I would just get attached so much to them whilst sometimes I would just ignore their demands. And now it kills me that I did broke their hearts many times over foolish reasons.
I remember sipping tea with her near the window and gazing and the people on the road and staring at the rainy skies. I remember planting saplings with her and helping her with her works. I remember travelling along with them to villages and towns and I remember eating with them in the same plate.
I still remember the day when I was out with my grandpa on his scooter with my cousin. We were out for a trail to the nearby temples for the festive season. While coming back, we met with an accident. I could already perceive that the old man couldn’t bear two kids over his back on the scooter and to my prediction, we did collide with a van and we were left broken amidst the road. My cousin was all fine. I had sprained my leg, but the old man didn’t open his eyes, he shut them coldly and then my heart became soft for him, as I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. His right arm was injured, he had gone through many pains. And after that accident, his right shoulder had become weak. He used to sleep over his left and he couldn’t pick up heavy things on the right. Since then, the old man had become more still. The vigor in his body was lost. He was a hard working fellow, but after that, hard work was out of his way. I still curse myself for being fat then, I still blame myself for his loss.
For the old man, doing work was the nostrum to live life. But I ended the path for him to his oil station, now he works on with cheap quality oil and his efficiency has lessened. But he told me once, that it never was my fault, but still my inner subconscious pricks me.
Similarly I feel sad that I couldn’t fulfill my grandma’s desire to teach her to read and write. The old lady would often sit near the window with a pen and paper with an ardent desire to write, but to her brightness, no light answered upon her. I taught her to write her name and she would often fill up pages writing up her name, but still her hands weren’t sure and confident. Her writing was still shaky even after writing a thousand times. I couldn’t enlighten the fear in her. It still resides in her. But know when I have realized the importance of education to her, I can’t do anything as I have no time to spare.
But then the beautiful thoughts of them overpower the gloomy ones. I remember sitting with him on dreary nights, when he is fully inebriated and imbibed in alcohol. He sits on the couch and he laughs aloud. He smokes and drinks and talks loudly, tells me his experience of life. He narrates me his childhood, his stories and his thoughts. And then when he dozes off lightly, I direct him towards his bed and he kisses me on my forehead and reminds me of life. He reminds me to be a good person, to get educated and to be a big man. And then I smile and put over a warm rug over his body. He still speaks silently, whispers till his eyes close and then snores the whole night, keeping me awake. But I like those nights, when he warns me, makes me vigilant and aware.
Similarly, my grandma preaches me to pray to god every night and morning. I follow her advice. She tells me about the folk tales and myths she has learnt about and then she discusses about the stories she sees on TV. She tells me about her childhood too and I love to hear about it. In return I like to render my services to her. I massage her, do her work, I help her in her chores and most importantly I help her with her heavy medicines. I love to see her smile and she feels happy when she sees me helping her, aiding her from getting out of the dark hole in which she is being dragged. I love to see the small sheen that runs over her face when she closes her eyes after I put the eye drops in them. I like the way she calls me out, by misspelling my name. I like the way she eagerly waits for me during dinner time and when she has to watch TV she runs to me so that I can guide her. I just love serving them and I regret I couldn’t see this type of fun in them. I regret I wasted time when I was free and now there is no time left.
But then every morning I listen her sing, speaking of gods and I see him reading the holy scripts, my mind elates and I feel happy. But when on some days I see him still asleep, in a deep sleep, a creepy thought comes up my mind, “Will he wake up? Is this my last day with him?” And then I smile as his belly bounces up and down and as she sings day in and day out and my mind colors and says “One more day to go on!”
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