To Be Loved

Grief

I walked down the stairs towards the dining room, where everybody was there. It was kind of quiet, and that is not something this household usually does or even appreciates, so I was worried.

As I was on the last stair, I stood there and watched my father-in-law. Sighing I walked towards where he was sitting, in the sofa chair. I took the newspaper in his hands.

"You are holding it upside down," I said and gave it to him correcting it. He gave me a sheepish smile.

It was not easy talking to this man, for he was always this scary neighbourhood uncle for us when we were young, though he was not present most of the time his name was enough to scare us away.

But years after now, we started talking. It's not much of a chat but whatever we talk about holds a lot of meaning to me. He started becoming the father figure I was missing since my teenage time. I don't remember the last time my father asking me how I was feeling. I know I did not do anything great for him to ask me about my well-being, but being asked, being heard and being held was what I was longing for, and even though it was not much, I took the crumbs of fatherly affection of what this man offers to me. His 'How are you feeling today?' is enough for me to know I have someone in my life who is worried about if I am living or dying.

"My mind is not working today," he said removing his Spects.

"May I ask why?" I said sitting next to his sofa chair, in the sofa.

"It's her death anniversary."  He mumbled making me frown.

"Whose?" I asked.

"Khushi." I heard my husband first, then felt his presence as he made himself comfortable on the opposite sofa.

His face? Lack of emotion. It is emotionless most of the time apart from the frown he carries on his face like the fingers on his palm, but today? Even that is missing.

Khushi. I have heard about her. The woman my husband was supposed to marry. The woman whose absence made my husband more fragile than his actual physical condition.

Sometimes I wonder if Khushi survived the accident, would Varun still be the same person he is now? His physical pain might not have changed, but maybe he would be in a better position to at least feel and express his emotions.

I did not know what to say to that, so I just sat there and mirrored their grim expression. I can hear the utensils sound from the kitchen, small murmurings here and there. Apart from the noise outside of a vendor screaming some of his products, it felt like even insects were afraid to make any sound beyond necessary. Maybe that's how it is with Varun.

I looked at him. I don't usually do, especially when he is right in front of me. But now I can't help but stare. I want to soak his every bit of expression today, see his grief and feel his pain in silence. Call me a masochist but there is a different admiration in the way one grieves. It shows you how much a person mattered to someone when they were there.

Years might have passed since she died but to him? Khushi never died, because Varun always will carry a part of her. Through memories or pain, she always lingers around his heart. And for some reason, that did not settle well with me.