-"Wait!! Let me join you!"
- "Later lover boy ! Im late!!!"
-"Take the flowers at least! I know they are your favourite!"
The young boy's left arm stretched out, holding the bunch of pink lilies, his lips in a straight thin line while the girl turned around, eyeing the flowers but reluctant to accept them.
She fidgeted with her green school skirt, unsure of what to say next. He was her oldest and closest friend.
It was a normal day and they were walking back home.
She wanted to hurry back, to reach home soon and visit her mother's grave before it got dark.
It was a dangerous feat, going there alone without Baba but it was Amma's birthday, Baba was already hurting, she could do it by herself.
Birthday's are for the living, not for the dead, she had been told by a girl once.
She didn't want him to come along, the town called her mother the strange lady, she didn't want him to be ridiculed.
Birthdays for the dead or living?
She was the strange lady's daughter.
She didn't care!
It was Amma's birthday!
She wiped a tear rolling down her cheek as she bravely continued her march to the graveyard.
He knew how headstrong she could be, walking behind her, she would probably turn around again and tell him for the hundredth time to stop following her.
The shrill voice and big round eyes glaring at him.
He was scared of her on such occasions, he was scared of graveyards even more yet he didnt want her to go alone.
After all, she accompanied him to his late secret visits to the sweet shop whenever he ran out of candies and it was her Amma's birthday.
Her late mother, he had never seen her but only heard about her from his own mother.
His mother said she was a strange lady, always sick, always in the hospital.
They entered the place.
There was hardly anyone around, tombstones after tombstones, some with fresh flowers, some with dried ones.
The young girl stood at the foot of the grave, hands folded, eyes shut tightly.
He stood at her right side, looking around as it grew darker.
She kept ignoring him and he ignored the tears that streamed down her cheeks, pretending he was not there because he didn't knew what to do.
Usually when someone cries, you tell them to be quiet or stop crying or gently cradle them but here, he could not do any of these things.
He could not attempt to cradle her, she might still push him away nor could he tell her to stop the crying, she was missing her Amma, he cried too when he missed his mother, so, how could he tell her not to?
So, there he stood, by her side, scared for his life holding the bunch of lilies.
He looked at the flowers then at his feet.
She continued to sob.
Finally, they heard voices, fast paced footsteps, someone was coming!
They had to go , they had to leave if they didnt want to be caught red-handed in an adventure that was off-limits for them.
Two nine year old kids visiting a graveyard alone.If the word got out, it could easily be one of the most scandalous pieces of news for the school.
As they turned around the corner with finally no immediate danger around them, he realised he didnt have the flowers anymore.
While fleeing,he had dropped the flowers.
It was probably near the grave, he guessed. He was too scared to go back.
The lilies were for her.
There was no special reason to bring except that they were in season and she always made him wait whenever they passed the flower shop, because she wanted to look at them a bit longer. She never bought flowers or candies or anything , she never really had pocket money.
She would say she didnt need the money but he doubted if it was the truth.
Days later, the word went around about the random lilies found near the strange lady's grave.
He realised, it was not just his mother who called her the strange lady. Numerous stories and rumours spread around explaining how the flowers ended there and how beautifully they bloomed over the following days.
Strangely enough, none of the stories were close to the truth but the confidence with which the stories were shared, one could feel doubtful whether they were actually true except that the two kids were actually there that evening and knew the sheer coincidence that it had been.
No, the strange lady didn't have a deal with a devil who was missing her and keeping flowers on her grave on her birthday. It was just him and his clumsy self.
That day, they realised that adults love to pretend to know a whole lot more than they actually do.
The town seemed to grow even more hostile to the strange lady's daughter and her baba.
She had never really liked lilies except that it was something which they would take for amma whenever they went to visit her at the hospital. Most of her memories of Amma had her in a hospital gown on a bed, in too much pain to open her eyes or move. A table next to her with the beautiful flowers spreading cheer in that dreary space.
Baba made sure that the vase always had fresh flowers, it was like a game between her and baba, who would get to chose the flowers this time?
How long the flowers would last?
Whose choice would Amma like more?
The flower shop would usually have lilies in different colors, pink ones were the prettiest.
In a way, lilies reminded her of the joy and eagerness of seeing her mother and so, she would gaze at the lilies every time she passed the flower shop.
She knew he bought so that she would stop staring at them.
He didn't know anything about the visits, the game, he didn't have to and she let him assume that they were her favourite.
Slowly, as the years passed, they did become her favourite and her Amma's birthday didn't seem that lonely as he stood there with her.
She liked to believe that Amma would probably be smiling at them from the clouds above and she must be at ease without the tubes and machines around her.
It became a ritual, delivering those flowers every year, bypassing the scrutiny , feeding the gossip mills-the legend of the strange lady.
She would cry just the same.
He got less awkward, gradually started praying for her amma, wishing the dead lady on her birthday started feeling less strange as the years went by.
Apart from that one day every year, they never talked about her amma or the grave.
They didn't need to.
Her running nose and her wet hand wrapped around his warm hand was enough to reassure them that they were there for each other.
