Will see you on the other side?

Running with toddler footsteps screaming “Buwaa….(grandfather)” as he waited at the doorstep with both his arms at our arrival, me and Dada (my brother) jumped right at him- all in the vigor of spending the upcoming thirty days in pure bliss. I always got to stay with him a bit longer, for I was the younger one. With that memory still intact, I watched the gentle smile that made home to his shabby face while I walked towards the once young gentleman seated on the corridor today- a subtle reminder that while I enjoy my time being a “young adult”, people around me are turning old. 

As I waited for Baba (my dad) to come pick me up from there, after merely thirty minutes today, I could see Aama (my grandma) struggling to keep her words “stay a little longer” within herself. But she knew that I wouldn’t and that would hurt even more. She must have consoled herself with the fact that Dada was on his way on his bike, and would stop by. 

The journey from the capital to my village, I remember every bit of the 138 kilometers ride- how I used to pack my clothes for the whole summer vacation- how me and Dada always used to fight for the front seat of the car, about who would give the sweater we brought for Buwa, or who would eat the last remains of sweets Aama had made- how the thought of sitting under the naked night sky as Aama takes us to the terrace for doing Puja of the moon on Purnima (full moon day) would make us so occupied that we would forget to ask ice creams on the way. 


I have the front seat today, but it doesn’t really matter.  


Baba’s red hair I used to play with sitting on his broad shoulders have turned gray and Mamu’s jewelry have long lost their design. Time is passing; and totally oblivious to the destiny of mine, I gave up these miniature changes for a cause I am not even aware of. The journey paces: the arrow keeps on moving forward while I push myself sitting on the top of it. At the very end of the arrow lies the “something” I am leaving behind. It scares me that maybe this journey to “have it all” leaves me deprived of the “all” I ever had. 


My days with everyone around me are decreasing as I plan to embark on something, and maybe this has been the rule- with Mamu, Baba, Dada and maybe everyone. I really have to accept the fact that as I write the journal of my life onto pages with no linings, I will have to scribble over. Mamu taught me how to write, now's the time I ought to learn “what” and “why” to write.


Maybe Buwa’s smile wasn’t a weary one, but a soft way of telling me that he was proud of me. Maybe Aama’s silence didn’t ask me to stay a little longer but was a message of “come back soon.” Maybe Dada also stopped by the same ice-cream parlor to have the same “butterscotch” flavor. Maybe Baba’s gray hairs were telling me about the complexity of life I was yet to encounter. And although Mamu’s jewelries have lost their design, the value they hold is untouched. 


Every day that passed didn’t only mean a lost memory with people around me, but it also meant that I got on. I moved. Forward.  


It sure hurts when the life you live becomes memories one day, but the hurt sure is worth it.

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