A closure of some sort

I can't seem to find the courage to look my mother in the eye and tell her I am not hungry. Nor do I have the courage to tell my father I don't have the courage to go see my friend for the last time. But when Maamu calls me for breakfast, I oblige; when Daddy tells me to take some flowers, I pluck the two marigold blooms in front of me. I slip on an oversized t-shirt, pull on my tights, slip on a pair of flats and leave home. I am scared, but I don't want to cry.

I take a bus to my best friend's home and listen to the old pop song blaring on the radio in the bus. I put my head on the windowsill and let it's vibration run through me. The window is open, the morning sun is blazing through it, the dirt on the road is flying everywhere. But I sit unfazed. Such trivial worries, I think. I know. 

Why am I going to my best friend's, you ask? It's because I am scared and I don't know what to do. But I know that if I have a hand to hold, I will get through it. Garima will say stupid but realistic things and make me laugh. I know she will, because that's what she always does. She will give me a little push, say I am crybaby  and I will laugh with her, at me, at us, at the absurdity of the situation. I know this will happen and that is the reason why I am headed to her place. Even if the ground I am standing on has all crumbled, she will lend me her hand. Even if half of my heart is scarred she will know it's my heart and protect it. Even if nothing's okay and we can't do anything about it, she will be here with me and let me see it through, so it's bearable. I hold her hand and listen to her stories. She asks for mine, I tell her some. But I really don't know and I am completely out of it. She doesn't tell me to snap out of it. Instead, she wonders out loud why things like these happen, why such young, good lives are kept brief. Again, the both of us get on a bus and we talk a bit about college, friends and acquaintances. I make her listen to a song-

“When it gets hard, I get a little stronger now. I get a little wiser now... I get a little braver now…”

She smiles as she listens to these words and I can't help it myself.

I tell Garima about the accident. I can't look at her in the eye, either. I am scared she will see through my troubled heart and I won't be able to sustain the little sanity left with me. I tell her the story of two best friends. How one left the other forever… How one held another as the final breath escaped… How it all came crashing down within seconds… How one left this world and moved on to another… How one couldn't do anything at the final moment… I am not really speaking in coherent sentences, at that moment, I don't know how to…

We reach the institute. Garima has her lectures to attend. She leaves me there in front of the hospital building. My other friends are there too. All waiting. Pleasantries are escaped. I walk up to them and let myself be held, because I know that I need to. Suddenly, memories flash by as we all wait under the hot summer sun. Birthday party, classroom talks, computer lab mischiefs one by one. I close my eyes, desperately trying to blink back tears, that are bound to fall this minute or another. I remember the two best friends, both of their families and I feel my heart tear a little bit, then a little more. Then, I cry. Silent tears escape and I let them. I don't have the strength to tell myself to get a grip.

They tell me an hour passed, so does another. From afar, I see a spider's elaborate web glistening at a corner. I walk up to it and watch the brown-yellow spider waiting wistfully for it's prey. I stare at the spider for a little bit. And then I stare at it's web, the fine details in the web and the spider itself seem like a perfect work of art. As if, they had been kept there as a muse for the visitors here. It's a beautiful sight, in a place as chaotic as this…

After her lectures are over, Garima comes back to me. I have been sitting for too long, my legs are slightly numb now. I ask her to walk me around. I hold her hands and feel a sense of calm surging through me. It makes my heart waver a little.” What would I do without you, maya?,” I wonder.

I tell her about the spider and that her college has such pretty flowers. She stares at me questioning why I am suddenly speaking of flowers. Garima says she has something she'd like to tell me. We are at the IoM, Maharajgunj walking around aimlessly. “Ever since I was admitted to this college, I have understood what Siddhartha Gautam had said about the stages of life,” she says. I smile, thinking maybe this is one of her countless stories to make me feel good. But as I catch her eyes, I realize it's not one of them. Her words make me wonder. She adds: “When he left the palace, he saw a small child, a sick man and a dead person. I also see the same here everyday, and I know that like birth, sickness is a part of life and so is death. There's no escaping for either phases. When someone dies, we are to be happy about the time and effort they took to keep themselves and the people around them happy. If they lived a happy life, we should be happy for them, too.”

Had we known something this absurd was heading our way, we would have taken some different choices. We would have tried to do something or the other differently… But we should know in our heart that the choices we made, the chances we didn't take are not our mistakes. The things we did and didn't do were meant to create a plot for our role in their life story. And the role we played in their life story, however small or huge, was important to them.

I am writing this as a prayer for him and his family, as a prayer for his best friend and his family. I am writing this a thank you for him, for everything he ever did while he bid his time in this world. I am writing this as a long hello to him until the next time we meet. I am writing this to come to terms with accepting the reality. I am writing this as a promise to keep him sheltered in our hearts, in our actions and in our prayers today, tomorrow and forever more.