Letting Go...

I cleaned my Granddad’s cupboards today. After exactly 10 months and 20 days I took the courage and cleaned it all up. All the clothes we had shopped together, his shoes we bought at Bata and his formal pants which he always marked with a black cross so they wouldn’t get mixed up with anyone else’s clothes.

It wasn’t easy at all. I cried all the way through that cleaning. When I threw his favourite old leather bag and held his favourite shirt against me, I still smelt him. His smell, so peculiar to my nose that I could recognize it in my dreams as well. His favourite socks, which he so religiously wore. His handkerchiefs that he never forgot to carry cause id always ask for one. It was so difficult to let go off those things; it felt like I was letting him go away from my life.

Then, I realized nothing could separate me from him and his memories. All these materialistic things were just proofs of his existence but his memories and his voice and his touch will always remain with me. They would be inseparable. His handwriting on the piece of paper saying “please call my grand daughter namrata” will always remain with me, making me realize that he’s here, always. By my side.
I miss him so much today. I so wish he was here.
Its never easy to let go of something you've loved so much..is it? I so hate let going..isn't it possible to deal with it in another way?..:(

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

The Rains...

It’s Raining!
The rains are here again. I love this season. The greenness of the leaves, the dew on every petal, the koyal singing early in the morning…it’s beautiful. I was lucky to not have had any bad memories with the rains last year. Of course, my mom, sister & dad were all stranded but all returned home safe. My family was fine.
But today, as I sat in my big window and smiled at the smell of the mud and the high it gave me, I wondered how many other people must be sitting at their windows and smiling?
At least a thousand people in Mumbai are going to hate the rains this year. Are going to be mortally afraid of it. They all lost at least one loved one to the rains last year. Do they smell the mud we smell? Do they love the freshness as we do? Do they feel as cool and calm as we do? I wonder. It must remind them of the loss they faced last year.

The death, the trauma and the grief each one of them suffered. Will the rains ever be a happy memory for them ever again?It’s when I think of such people, that my smile fades away and all I can do is just say thank you to whoever it is up there who made sure, id have a happy memory of the rain for this year too...