LLC01: Love Letter to Husband/ Wife
Creative Writing – Love Letter Contest 2013
© YourStoryClub.com
It is said when you are about to die, your entire life flashes in front of you. I don’t know how much of that is true. But I know one thing for sure. When someone dear to you is about to die, you remember your moments with him. I experienced it sitting next to my husband in his deathbed. The moments you never imagined you will remember in the long run. Some trivial like a day spent gardening and some important like the birth of your first child. We have no control over what we will remember. The brain creates a slideshow of all those memories. All you can do is reminisce those memories and wipe your eyes after.
I have never thought what I would do after he has gone. I never thought such a day would ever come when he will part with me. I always thought he will be around. But now that he is gone, I don’t feel anything. In a strange way I am happy. I am happy that I could take care of him till the end. Because I know he would have struggled on his own. We were always alone except for each other’s company. I still remember the first time we met. It seems like ages ago, when we were in college. He was walking in front of me and a book dropped out of his hand. I picked it up for him. Coincidentally it was my favourite book. Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind. It started us talking and two weeks after I realised I have found my soul mate.
Now that he has gone, I can finally open that envelope. An envelope stacked between the pages of “Gone With The Wind”. He had written it for me to read it only after his death. Some how he was sure that he would be the first to go. Even though I was the one constantly troubled with ailments. He was always healthy. But that’s the way he has always been. Sure about everything and following his conviction with an ever present smile on his face. It was this conviction that convinced me to elope with him one night in the winter of 1953. His smile had a unique sense of reassurance.
Till that point, I have never made any decisions on my own. I would ask my mother even for what to wear while going out. But that day I made the biggest decision of my life on my own. The girl who used to pester her mother for everything, finally came to her own that winter night. It was his reassuring smile that made me chose him barring religious boundaries and customs. We had a tough going. A life of ebb and flow. Mostly ebb. It was to be expected as we had strong opposition from both our families. There is no way you can convince them about love and soul mate. Nothing can overlook the precondition of being from the same caste. But we weathered the storm. And I thank god everyday for giving me the courage to step out of my house that winter night.
There were two copies of Gone With The Wind in our shelf. It was a symbol of our love. Time has wearied down the book just as it has wearied down us. The pages have become yellow, the bind torn and covered with dust. But still it stood in the stack watching our life unfold.
I took my specs and leaned in on my favourite spot in the couch. I opened the envelope with a heavy heart and the sight of his handwriting brought a tear in my eye. Soon another drop rolled chasing the first.
My first and only love
The first thing I want to say is wipe that tears off your face. I want you to read this with a smile on your face, like I always used to be. You should be happy that you have finally got rid of me. Just kidding. You always said I have a misplaced sense of humour. Sorry jan some habits die hard. I want to thank you for being the one constant thing in my life for the past 60 years. I think Margaret Mitchell will be happy that her love story paved the way for ours.
Coincidentally our first and last communication was through Gone with the wind. Or maybe not so coincidental. I must confess something. Our first meeting was not by chance. I have never believed in love at first sight till I saw you. I noticed you carrying Gone With The Wind with you all the time. I haven’t heard of it before. So I bought one and deliberately dropped it while walking in front of you that summer day. I always believed that we make our own luck and I made my luck that day. You showed tremendous courage choosing me and an uncertain future over your family. Waiting outside your house that winter night, I doubted if you would ever come out.
So I had no plans and was surprised when you did come out. Remember how your brothers and uncles went on a manic searching spree for us. I am sure you would have read this letter much sooner had they found us then. Somehow we escaped from them all and started our life together in a one room rented house. I somehow liked that small house from all the houses we have lived in. I know our own house is special, but I have a soft corner to that house. Our initial years were tough, with me having no job. Then slowly things started getting better with both of us earning. I have no idea how we raised our two kids. We endured the pain of labour and the even greater pain of child rearing together. We realised parenting was all about controlling the urge of killing your children. Misplaced sense of humour again?.
I thought our families would forgive us after the birth of Zoya. But they didn’t. I wished my mother could guide you on bathing babies and share stories of when I was a kid and both of you would go on laughing. That dream never came true. We were expelled from their lives forever. We have hurt them so bad and it was unforgivable. Maybe its their curse that our kids are not with us now. We hurt our parents and our kids did the same to us. It all comes back. But I am happy that I had you by my side all along. And if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t have done it any other way. After I am gone I don’t want you to be sobbing all day and confining yourself to the house. You should go out, tend the garden, engage with neighbours, watch movies and keep cooking. Your cooking is what I will miss the most. People are blessed with the gift of cooking. No matter how strictly you follow a recipe, there is something inherent in you that elevates the dish. You had that gift and my pot belly can vouch for that. I think they will have to call a crane to lift me from this bed thanks to all the pounds I gained courtesy your cooking. Another misplaced humour? No you are smiling. Ha finally gets one right. ( I was smiling).
I know you think I am always confident. My smile is actually a camouflage. I smile when I am nervous and I get nervous most of the time. It is my defence mechanism. I had no clue in the world on what to do when we eloped that night. I kept smiling and hoped for the best. Luckily it all turned out well. So the trick is to keep going regardless of the path. And once you reach the finish line I will be there waiting. Hopefully with a copy of you know which book. My favourite memory is of you coming out of your house that winter night. You were scared like hell and it added a glow to your face. Or was it the moon. That was the most beautiful you have ever looked. The hair kept falling on your face and after a while you didn’t care to nudge it back. I wanted to pull the hair away from your face as it was hindering the glow. I hope to die with that image of you in my heart. And of course with a smile on my face and my right hand carefully wrapped in your palms as if you won’t let me go.
As Scarlett O’Hara says “ After all tomorrow is another day”.
Lovingly your’s
I took a deep breath after reading the letter. I carefully folded and placed it in the book. I felt a surge of emotions. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I knew what I wanted to do next. I wanted to cook. Cook his favourite dish, roti and malai kofta. He would be happy to see me cook. I had no idea what to do after that. So I kept on cooking.
It is said that there are 5 stages of grief. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and finally Acceptance. I never thought it was right. But once I was placed in that precarious position, I realised there was some truth in it.
When you are with someone for so long, your activities tend to revolve around them. I never used to pick the newspaper in the morning. He was always the first to get it and it would be there in the table. I miss seeing the newspaper on the table in the morning. He was always careless with the things and his stuff lay all around the room. I was busy all day tidying up the mess. But now I miss the mess. I hate all the neatly placed stuff. He used to put the wet towel after bathing in his room. I have scolded him a million times that he will catch a cold. But he kept on doing it. Now there is no wet towel in the room. But life goes on and after some days you come to terms with it. You adapt.
One of our main activities on Sundays were feeding the kids in our nearby orphanage. I was happy to cook and he was delighted to serve. We would have our Sunday lunch with the kids. That was the most enjoyable part of our life. Once you get old, you will find happiness even in little things like a kid’s smile. He used to enjoy those visits a lot. After the lunch ,kids would gather around him and he would tell stories about how he worked in a million companies and then started his own business. He enjoyed the kid’s interest in his stories and their gaze with admiration. He felt like a hero among those kids. After that we would spent the evening watching the movie on Doordarshan. With the advent of cables and satellite technologies, there are a million channels to choose from. But Sunday times were always Doordarshan time. It has become our habit, a kind of tradition. No matter what the film was, we used to watch it. Even if we have watched it many times or it was a bad film, we would watch it over a cup of tea. Doordarshan carried a unique sense of nostalgia with it. It was like going back to our home, like visiting our childhood. Turning back the clock.
The third Sunday after his demise I decided to go to the orphanage. The kids asked about him and I answered with the cliché that he has gone to heaven. I pictured him sitting with the kids,telling stories and cracking jokes ( atleast he thought it was joke). Then I laboured back home, made tea and switched on the TV. Our favourite movie ‘Deewar’ was playing on Doordarshan. I sat on the couch, sipping tea and watching the film. Alone .
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