Last night I spent my first evening by myself at home. I made myself some dosas. I worked. I said “hello” to the photograph of the late Daddykins and asked him if he were behaving at least this time around. I got a phone call from an aunt and a cousin. Then I worked some more and then went to bed. This morning, I got up, made myself a great cup of coffee and went off for my walk at 6.15 AM at Jeeva Park. Now this is the life my father led for years after my mother passed on—until his health began failing two years ago. The same friends greeted me at the park. One elegant walker, whose every cotton sari makes me so envious of her, spoke to me at length about her life as we walked. Widowed just eleven months after her marriage when she was just sixteen years of age, she sought to move on and make a beautiful life for herself and her little girl. Stories like that abound in the park. And those stories make my own so trivial. They make my cross so easy to bear.
Posted on: Wed, 16 Jul 2014 05:29:31 +0000
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