Apocalypse I have a system to raise children

Praveen Lancer

"Where is little uncle?"

"Your uncle Praveen couldn't come home this week. Everyone is busy at his office. I think he probably has been sent elsewhere again," explained Grandfather Andrei, his voice tinged with a hint of forced cheer.

A familiar pang of disappointment settled in my chest. "Oh," I mumbled, unable to mask the sadness in my tone. Uncle Praveen's visits were the highlights of my weeks, his stories far-flung adventures and whispered promises of exotic gifts filling my world with wonder. I yearned for him to be there, sharing our meal as he always did, his booming laugh echoing through the room.

The clatter of pots and excited chatter broke the silence. Igor, my younger brother, rubbed his stomach and declared, "It's time to eat!" His unbridled enthusiasm was infectious, and a faint smile touched my lips. As we gathered around the table, laden with steaming dishes prepared with love, the aroma filling the air with warmth, I pushed my disappointment aside. Despite the absence of Uncle Praveen, the comfort of family and the promise of a delicious meal brought a sense of solace, a reminder that joy could still be found in the simple moments, even amidst unspoken longing and hidden anxieties.

Dinner had come to a joyful end, the remnants of laughter and satisfied sighs lingering in the air. Vivek, his heart brimming with a warmth he hadn't felt in years, decided it was time to share the most precious part of his past life with his family.

"I have something to show you all," he announced, his voice filled with a nervous tremor. He stood up and retrieved a worn leather photo album from his bag, its edges softened by time and countless journeys.

Intrigued, his family gathered around him, their eyes filled with curiosity. He carefully opened the album, the worn pages whispering stories of a life he once lived.

With a gentle smile, Vivek pointed to the first picture. It depicted a young boy, no older than five, with a head full of unruly brown hair and eyes that held a hint of stoicism. "This is Krish," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "My eldest son. He was quite... reserved, preferring to observe and analyze rather than engage in boisterous activities."

Grandma chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Just like his father, then?" she teased, her voice laced with fondness. Vivek laughed softly, a genuine sound that warmed the room. "Perhaps a little," he admitted, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.

He flipped to the next picture, revealing another boy, this one with a gentle smile playing on his lips and eyes that shone with kindness. "This is Rahul," Vivek continued, his voice softening. "The middle child. He was the embodiment of gentleness and compassion, always putting the needs of others before his own."

A collective sigh escaped his family's lips, their hearts melting at the sight of the kind-hearted boy. Grandpa, a man of few words, leaned forward and placed a hand on Vivek's shoulder. "A good soul," he said simply, his voice gruff yet filled with warmth.

Vivek nodded, his throat tightening with emotion. He turned the page, revealing a picture bursting with sunshine and laughter. A boy, slightly older than the others, beamed at the camera, his infectious smile reaching his eyes. "This is Jack," Vivek said, his voice regaining its strength. "He was pure sunshine, always radiating joy and warmth, lighting up any room he entered."

A collective eruption of laughter filled the room, each member seemingly picturing the vibrant boy in their minds. Even Maya, usually reserved, couldn't help but crack a smile at the infectious energy radiating from the picture.

Next came a picture of a boy with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a shock of brown hair standing on end. "This is Akhil," Vivek introduced, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "The mischievous one. He was always up to some kind of trouble, keeping everyone on their toes with his pranks and adventures."

The family erupted in laughter once more, each member recalling their own childhood moments of mischief. The picture stirred up memories and anecdotes, creating a warm and nostalgic atmosphere in the room.

Finally, Vivek turned to the last picture. It depicted a young girl, her eyes sparkling with life and a carefree spirit, holding a bouquet of wildflowers. "And this," he said, his voice trembling slightly, "is Bhargavi. My daughter. She was full of life and light, always dancing to the beat of her own drum."

A hush fell over the room as everyone took in the picture of the vibrant girl. Vivek spoke no further, the picture speaking volumes about the love and pride he felt for his daughter. The silence, however, wasn't one of grief, but of shared understanding and empathy.

Grandma, her eyes reflecting a lifetime of experience, reached out and squeezed Vivek's hand. "They are all beautiful," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "You must be very proud."

Vivek nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "I am," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

In that moment, surrounded by his loving family, Vivek felt a sense of completion he hadn't experienced in years. He had shared a piece of his past, a glimpse into the life he once cherished, and in doing so, had found a way to keep their memory alive. The love and support of his family filled the void that had been left by his lost loved ones, offering him a sense of belonging and a beacon of hope for the future.

As the night deepened, the family continued to reminisce about the pictures, weaving stories and sharing memories. They spoke not just of the children, but also of the life Vivek had once lived, of the love and laughter that had filled his days. In sharing his past, Vivek had not only honored his lost loved ones, but had also strengthened the bonds of his present family, creating a tapestry of love and remembrance that would forever bind them together.