Grief knows no timeline; it takes some months to recover from the loss of a loved one and others remain bereaved for a lifetime. The overwhelming sense of loss sneaks up at the most inopportune times, like a tsunami, it is quiet yet destructive, eroding all sense of security and well-being. There is no one true characteristic associated with in the way mourners cope with their deep loss. Some feel the need to cry out loud and bemoan their loss while others keep it tightly contained, refusing to let anyone in on their private anguish.
Mumbai, Maharashtra
It has become a norm for Madhubala Malik to return home, hours after twilight has welcomed the pitch black night sky. The cold, condescending moon seem to be glancing down at her in mockery as she steps out of her rustic, grey Honda Civic that has been her trusty companion since her college days. The parking deck adjoined to their apartment building, D.N Nagar, has very limited space, therefore, Madhu is left with no choice but to park in the narrow alleyway, adjacent to her complex.
Madhu shuffles through her black, Michael Kors Hamilton bag and pulls out a mini pepper spray that she keeps handy. In her line of work, she often ventures out to unsavory parts of the city and taking safety precautions just gives her a certain sense of security, false though it may be. Holding the pepper spray tightly in her hands, she quickly walks towards her building, keeping vigilance.
Breathing in a sigh of relief, she walks through the apartment entrance, nodding her head in acknowledgment at the security guards posted near the doors. In the lobby, Madhu pushes the button for the elevators and waits impatiently for one of them to come back to the ground floor.
She is exhausted and wants nothing more than to take off the black, patent leather, pointy toed, 4 inch stiletto pumps. Given how often she is on her feet, Madhu wonders why she must give in to the dictates of fashion and put herself through the grueling ordeal of running around in high heels. Tapping her feet impatiently, one of the elevators door opens and she steps in and presses the button for the 10th floor.
Arriving at her floor, Madhu steps out of the elevator. She drops the pepper spray back into her purse and fishes out keys to her flat that she shares with her family. Unlocking the door, she steps into an artfully decorated living space. The furnishings are sleek and modern, with a touch whimsy, decorated with bright, splashes of colors to make them pop. A mural, inspired by post-modern deconstructionism, depicts a womanly figure, of goddess like stature, keeping a watchful eye on two little girls in pigtails, playing around her in a natural surrounding; graces the wall, opposite the entrance.
Madhu's brown eyes glistens with unshed tears like warm, liquid honey, as she gazes at the mural. She remembers like it was yesterday, her momma painting on the wall with careful, measured brush strokes and she and her sister gaily laughing as they pretended to be artists just like her. Every time she looks it, bittersweet memories with her momma threatens to overwhelm the control she has worked so hard to achieve.
She kicks open her shoes and walks to the center of the room. Madhu slowly turns her gaze towards the self-portrait of her momma, hanging on the wall that is shared by the small, cozy kitchen on the left and the dining space to the right. The fresh, scented fragrance oozing off the garland made of jasmine, hanging on the portrait wafts through her and Madhu breathes it in deeply. Jasmines. They were her momma's favorite flower. Savoring the fragrance and the warmth in air generated by the portable heater, Madhu feels her mother's presence like she has been enveloped by her loving, welcoming arms in a warm embrace.
Today is her momma's 2 years death anniversary and like last year, her papa held a prayer for her departed soul. And just like last year, Madhu couldn't be a part of the veneration, partly because she is not emotionally equipped to handle all the outpouring of sympathy that just makes he want to holler in anger and frustration. Malik has yet to fully recover from the loss of his beloved wife. It takes him a lot of effort to get through the daily tasks of living his life. Along with her momma, her papa's soul has departed his body, leaving behind just a living skeletal.
The world has called Madhu's mother's death as an unfortunate accident. But she knows the truth. Her momma's death was not due to an unfortunate incident. As far as Madhubala Malik is concerned, Padmini Malik was murdered.
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Games of Deception
RomanceA relationship borne out of necessity, Rishabh and Madhubala come to mutual understanding and enter into a marriage of convenience. They come up with a set of rules for their marriage and all seems well. But is it really? Read to find out!
