ATN: THE ELEMENTS OF BEAUTY

MY MOTHER, AS I KNEW HER

"Daddy, you still cry for her?" I asked. It was a stupid question. Of course he did. He had never loved a woman other than Mom.

"Yes, Jay. Its been fourteen years, and there hasn't been a single day I don't think of her."

I smiled, then looked at the photo. The three of us seemed very happy in it. Dad wore a green striped on white sweater, and I was wearing a red sweater, and small baby jeans. I was laughing. So were my parents. My Mom looked very happy.

I don't have memories of my Mom. I was only two when she died. My father always told me that she was an archaeologist, and the love for adventure (something I inherited from her) took her to different places. One of them took her to the Amazon Rainforests. She went there, and never came back, and was presumed dead. This story breaks something inside me every time. But Dad was definitely strong. He had to take care of me all by himself, and he did. As I have heard from Uncle Sankalp, Dad worked from home for two years to take care of me. Thank God, his employers knew his value to their company. Then, he had a babysitter for me, who would take care of me all day until Dad came back. He learned a lot of things, and did it very well. But, he didn't pamper me ever. I had been slapped on my face quite a few times by him when I did something wrong. He had always made me earn my stuff. Even when I needed a mobile phone to communicate, he asked me to score well in my tenth final exams to get that mobile. It had helped me. It made me take care of my things I earned. It made me responsible.

I was still looking at the photo. Dad had his black hair combed neatly. He did not have spectacles back then. My Mom was wearing a blue sweater, and a necklace with a fire-torch symbol. Her pale skin shone in the sunlight. We had gone to Manali, according to Dad. Her brown eyes also shone bright. Her dark brown hair was tied into a bun. She looked very beautiful. At the bottom of the photo, our names were written: Rohit Chatterjee, Helia Alexakis Chatterjee, and Jay Chatterjee.

Cool fact: If you didn't get it by her name, you should know that my Mom wasn't Indian, though she spoke Bengali very well; being an archaeologist she had to learn many languages. She was Greek. She and Dad met in Kolkata, in the airport. She was catching a flight to Athens, and so was Dad. Now, an Indo-Greek relationship is something unusual, and would raise a few eyebrows back in the nineties. But, with my Grandma no more, Grandpa easily gave permission for Dad to marry Mom. Uncle Sankalp and Aunt Kia followed the same path of marrying non-Indians, though Grandpa wasn't alive to see them get married.

Dad would tell me how Mom helped a woman to find her daughter who was kidnapped, back in Greece. She was normally very repellent towards men, but Dad was a little too charming, even for her.

I looked back at Dad. He was smiling now. "We were a happy family, you know." he said.

"We definitely were. I wish she could be here." I said. I wished that everyday. I saw kids everyday with their mothers, laughing, crying, arguing, complaining, playing. I wished I could have that. But then again, we don't control death. She was gone, and I couldn't ever get her back, until I had lived my life and died myself. 

And, then, I left Dad's room, and went to mine. My heart felt heavy, with things I wanted but couldn't have. If I had the Mirror of Erised with me, I knew what I would see. With all these thoughts in my mind, I had totally forgotten about my discovery of the supernatural in me. And, till date, four months later, I haven't told Dad about it, though I use those powers everyday.