In 2010, a rag tag group of 4 well dressed, affluent and highly educated orphans went back to the beach together. Only one of them remembered the beach from better days.
One of them walked into the what-was-once-a-sea to cast away into the not-quite-waves, the garlands, bits and bobs from his mother's funeral. The younger followed, with words of caution to watch out for the slippery patches, "Don't hurt yourself" a voice echoing one silenced just ten days ago. His twin stood on the shore with streaming eyes with a hand on her belly, consoling herself or perhaps her child who would never know this beautiful grandmother. I held her hand. I am the big sister.
I stood there, first born, memory keeper, Elder now: watching the dull grey water lapping at the dirty clay that was once sand. A skeletal horse watched me with long lashed eyes. We had all seen better days.
And behind us, the drama of a bustling city went on as if Life was just that: a bag of floral detritus to submit to the elements. Dust thou art...Amma used to say. And here we were forlorn with that reality staring back at us through dried garlands.
In three days, I was to leave for my home two continents away , not knowing when I'd return. And all I did that day was look at the SeaLink from the other side, that mud flat that was once a beach. All that was beloved, familiar and mine was gone.
We had said goodbye to so much that morning. After that, we went to lunch to Kshirsagar, took pictures, played Manik Verma's songs in the car in Amma's memory, bought sandals at Bata, all the while wondering if Amma was okay.
And I am sure she was.
We went home.
RIP childhood memories. And I haven't been back since.
No comments:
Post a Comment