APARAJITA.

DISCLAIMER: This ain't real. I make up stories, this is one of those made up ones. So don't get hurt, or offended. Because I am not responsible, if you do. I however, will feel sorry for you. I could have made mistakes factually. I apologize for the mistakes i made, before you even tell me what they are. I hope you appreciate the story if it is worth any appreciation, and overlook those factual mistakes in the story. I hope you criticize the story, and not it's factual details, or the person who wrote it. I also hope you've had a good day. And if you like my work, I was hoping that you would click on the "Join this site" button to your right. Lastly, I hope you have the patience to read the whole thing, and appreciate the time you are giving to do so. Thanks in advance.

Picture courtesy: Sharmistha Dutta Photography.

P.S you can also subscribe to my blog now, just enter your email on the right hand side. :)

    This morning, she woke up to a sky full of promises. She has been like this for a month and two days today. Most of it had been hard, but she has sustained through most of it. Most of it, being the struggle of trying to make herself the person she was before she became, whatever she became.

   She counts each day as if it were to bring her a day closer to all the light that she has lost somewhere, while living life through it's different shades.

   There is a lot life taught her, but most importantly she has learnt that 62 days are enough to change a person so drastically, that you will barely recognize who that person was before. And as much as she hates to admit , this phase of her life, has made her grow into an individual she never thought she would be, before the catastrophe hit. But we learn with the passing chapters of life, and this is one lesson she will always hold on to, for life.

   It took me a while to realize that Aparajita was going through a great deal of mental trauma since the sudden death of her son at the battlefield. I have known her for seven years, and she has always occurred to me as one of those women with a heart of stone. What I failed to understand is that, every once in a while the weight of all that heart has ever been, occurs to the carrier as a potential burden, and you still have to carry it, without making a sound. Life was not easy, and it certainly had not been easy on this woman, so I am definitely kidding myself if I think she was okay. But there is a difference, between not being okay, and being extremely apathetic, and the latter, was not really a pretty thing to be.

   I first saw her in this state, at the park, when we met after a long time. It was our first non-digital conversation in a long while, and not a very great one at that. She did seem like she wanted to tell me something, but then again, she hesitated. Constantly playing with her fingers, and getting worked up too easily, she sat next to me in the park, making me realize she isn't in a pretty place. I asked her, if she was okay, and she told me that she was. I wondered if she really thought that I would believe that. But evidently she didn't care, if I knew that she wasn't okay. All she wanted to do was leave our conversation.

  That weekend I visited her. Of course, she wasn't really happy to see me. But she let me in anyways. I noticed the hints Aparajita was giving me, that I am not wanted here, and that I should probably leave.

  But I stayed. This woman took care of me when I was grieving, and it was my responsibility to be there for her now. So I was just going around the house, picking up the mess that her home had become, ignoring all those looks aparajita was constantly giving me, to make me leave.

And then, I entered her room.

   That's when I saw, all that Aparajita had become in the last two months. There were canvases with paintings of all that she had felt in these 62 days. And they were beautiful. As if a grieving mother had put all her grief into those pictures and felt them in each shade her pain had made. There were paintings of her son, in different colors, blue, green, orange, and other colors, all over the place. And so accurately replicated, it felt like he was there.

He was there.

   That was the point, I thought, of all this. To be able to feel, the presence of her son in all of these paintings, so much so that, that is what she'd rather do, for the rest of her life.

   "You're wrong". She said.

     Me: "Me? I didn't quite..."

   

   She looked at the paintings with blank eyes, and said, "You're wrong, whatever you think this is. I don't do this because I miss him. I can't say I don't miss him, He was my son, and I cannot explain, how my veins ache at the very thought of his death. I curse myself for being so brave enough to send him to the war, and trust me, there is not a moment when I do not think of him. But, you're wrong, I don't paint these canvases because I miss him."

   There was silence for a long while after that, mainly, because I did not want to ask her why she drew them. I preferred to let it be, because if there was something she wanted to say to me, I would not have to ask for it. Such was our friendship, uncomplicated, and settling.

   She said, "Last summer, when Arijit came back from war, I was making those coconut barfi's for him, a day before he was leaving. He loves those. Always told me, "Maa, can't get enough of those Barfi's you make, can't get enough." And every time, he came back, I made a box full of those for him. 3 months ago, which was also our last conversation by the way, when he called me to tell me he was coming, he said he'd come only for two days. And all I could think of, is, I need to make him those sweets beforehand then. Yes, I thought about those sweets."

   She continued, "And I made them, I still have them lying there in that cupboard. I don't think I want to throw them away for now. Not anytime soon." She sighed.

I didn't say anything.

"Do you want to know what was the last thing he told me, that day?", She asked me.

I kept quiet.

   She knew what I wanted, so she continued, "He told me the mission he was going on this time was one of the toughest ones he had ever been to. So I asked him, "What makes you go there, anyway?” And he told me about this lesson he learnt in school when he was little, about how there was a girl named brave who carried a canvas, and every time something bad happened to her, she gave it a color, and she put it on that canvas, and then she tried to change it's color to something she wanted it to be, by applying another set of colors. That, she said, gave her power over the situation." That's what I'm doing", he said. "Which color is this mission, then?", I asked him. And he said, "Red, sounds really like it. So I'll put a little yellow, and we'll make it orange.”,Then there was a moment of silence after that on the phone, after which he said,

"Ma?"

"Yes, Jaan."

"Be Brave.""

   There was silence for approximately five minutes after what Aparajita said to me. We both had our moments.

"Those were his last words."She sighed.

"I know what you're going to say, but I need you to be frank to me, do you think I'm losing it? Not that I care, but I'm really trying here. You understand what I'm doing here, don't you?"

"I do. You're not crazy. You're not anything of that sorts. But there is something odd about this, something maybe none of us will understand, and you shouldn't care about that either. Because if I were your son, I would."

Her eyes welled up, "What is it?", She whispered.

"Aparajita, you aren't crazy."

"They won't understand it, but let me tell you, You, Aparajita, are immensely brave."

-Meha.