h. 💛

 

[a]

when h was ten, she got this magician's kit for a birthday present and among other other random things, it had a sandclock

we used it for her night brushing, and sometimes, just to watch time flow

one day it stopped flowing

noone knows why

but a heap of white sand got timelessly stuck forever at the narrow neck and wouldn't trickle anymore

imagine that

time stopping

and then the quiet, and the darkness

let's not imagine that

let's turn the gaze and think footprints instead

...

[b]

when h was at her desk with schoolwork, she would often suddenly drop things, get up and run down the stairs. sometimes to get a bag of chips, sometimes to pet a stray cat, sometimes to bring home an orphaned puppy.

yesterday was to pick wildflowers. half hour after she was back there was a just handmade brown oshibana-ready bookmark on her desk. 

it was simple and beautiful. with tiny flowers and buds and leaves on twigs and little art around them, and a text collage cut out from her teenage book. 

i saw it, touched it, tried it out inside the book i was then reading, because she wouldn't let me have it. no matter how many times i asked for it emotional overtones included. it was for a friend.

i wanted it badly enough to ask again after couple hours hoping she'll change her mind. 

"uffff. grow up ma. you can't have everything you want !"

profoundnesses i will save to give back. i thought.

...

[c]

so there were these sudden sunny days when her dadan showed up unannounced. 

with two bags of her favourite masala chips and literally 10 packets of aam pachak and some sour punk candies. sometimes the best succulent pink prawns from the fresh fish market that h loved simply tossed with butter and garlic. also other whatnots - stuff only he and she knew are happy and super healthy food in a different sort of way.

we celebrated these days, these couple hours. h would photoshoot the granddad with her newly made merchandise at odd supermanlike angles to get the right light, and the granddad would maybe take a rare groupfie.

on these days, we talked, and laughed a lot, and  saved some life elixir for later.

...

[d]

"h

you have fever. grey and crimson fever. daarun jwor. 

i try very hard to imagine-feel your fever inside my body. like i took your period dates once, i want to attract your fever and feel it in my system of veins and organs and nerves. 

not to empathize but to know what soothes, what heals you. like an ice compress for high temperatures. or a childhood song. or an orange. 

because yesternight, as i watched your pain, i felt blankness. what are you feeling, i asked myself several times. as i waited outside the toilet holding the door with my toes, a sliver ajar so i can see you're safe. there was no answer. what was the name of the feeling i was feeling. i don't know. i was maybe unfeeling, like an inanimate safety object that would see you to a safe space no matter what. as if this isn't done with emotions but with wiring. so what was it that I was feeling. 

~

the lake feels cool and looks shaded this morning. clouds covering the sun. a thin but constant breeze. pleasant. also quiet, this place i chose to sit down. 

from here i see the fountains with varying columns of water. rising falling spraying mist all around making unmaking shapes and looking very beautiful. for some reason, all the fountains are dancing today. remember you were asking the other evening why the fountains were off.

~

h

donot let anyone ever take away the power and peace of your mind. 

not even yourself. often, it's us who harm us most.

the illness, you will win. like didun would say if she knew. 

she gave you a baby kangaroo name remember. joey."

there would be bad days, there would be dark days, and then suddenly there would be a super sunny morning with art and music and conversations and then there will be silence again.

such were her days through adolescence. her unwellness, her sensitivity, her moods, her life. 

there were long kitchen table and work table conversations for hours on end. where she would keep talking and walking behind me as I went about the day's work and moved from one room to another.

one such day, such an afternoon, for the first time she cried. it was after a longish episode of soundless cocooning. then she wrote to herself, like she always did. collecting her orange peels. 

"someday, when i hear her laughing it will be a new day. i will let out all the breaths i kept in my chest. her eyes will glow. she will walk without a fear hanging in her throat. 

i will walk a little behind her. for her to know that she can do it. i want her to know that i believe in her.

she will run up to her friends and i will smile. 

then, i will let her go for sometime. she will learn. she will grow. 

and i'll be there when she needs me."

me too. I added in my mind. 

...