So there is this lady. She loves to read. She reads everything that there is. She reads to hide her pain. She reads to miss Ajoba a little less. She reads to feel alive. She reads because she’s alive.
You’ll find her out in the verandah in the evenings. Looking at the sky with a dull, expressionless face.You can tell. She’s missing someone. But that’s what you do when people you love die, right? You miss them & she does too. Sometimes she talks to those little kids who are playing outside. Sometimes she gives them little treats. They make her happy but that’s just so momentary. Her sadness is old. Just like her. And it pains. Just like her knees do. But it’s not the same, you know.
Flowers make this oldie happy. Give her one & see her smile. A childlike, innocent smile. Books do, too. The peace that she finds in between those pages of a book is something beyond describable, she says.
She doesn’t get much sleep these days. Ajoba’s memories keep her up. Darkness scares her. And all she wants is to be with him. Be next to him. Huddled in bed with a torch next to her & a photo of her dead husband she waits for the night to pass & sometimes she wishes to pass with it.
And when she looks at me with those hopeful eyes searching for comfort which I know she wouldn’t find everything seems to crumble around me. I hate it. I despise myself for not being able to help her. I, I just want to make her smile. I’m willing to move mountains for it but I know that isn’t what she wants.
Her wrinkled skin & beautiful white hair. Her pretty sarees & reassuring voice. Her shaky fingers & soda glasses. Her talcum powder-ish smell. All just boil down to one word- comfort. And that’s exactly what I find in her.
I don’t know if she’s ever going to be truly happy again. Sadness is chronic. Her sad gazes just break my heart. But when I see her smile or talk passionately about politics & history or want to rub my back or oil my hair or just watch her wedding album with me, I feel sane. I feel nice. I know she’s happy. Just for a few moments. But she is.
She gave my mom to me. She changed my dirty nappies & put me to sleep when my parents were busy working their backsides off just so I could have a better future. She’s told me stories that fascinate me till date. She’s made me love books.
This post is just one of my trivial attempts to let her know how much I love her. My Ajji. 🙂
“Life has been really difficult for me since your ajoba died but I have you & that’s what keeps me going. Motivates me to live. I do it. For you.”
fadedlipstickandsmudgedkohl 