Author: Monica Gupta

My left hand tapped at the alarm clock. Slipping my feet into my purple slippers, I stepped out of the room. In the adjacent room, lights were on, the TV showed a blue screen, Dad was snoring. Looking at the usual vacant bed beside him, my lips drooped into a frown. I switched off the light and shut the doors.  Into the kitchen, I Poured tea into my favorite white porcelain mug and walked to the drawing-room. I stood yet again, mom was sleeping on the couch. I placed the mug on the table without making any noise and gently lifted the sheet to cover her. Being a light sleeper, she woke up. 

“I overslept! I will pack your lunch.” 

I stopped her mid-way. 

“It’s Sunday, mom. I have to deliver one lecture. I will be back at lunchtime. Please sleep.” 

Nodding, she pulled back the sheet to sleep. 

Seated opposite to her on the sofa, I sipped the tea, cupping the mug between my palms. Against the grey backdrop of darkness in the room, twilight peered in through the gaps of the curtains. I kept looking at the thin, fragile frame of my mother’s back. Age reflected in her shrunken physique with wrinkled hands. Seeing Mom and Dad sleeping in different rooms, the haunting vision appeared before my eyes. An image of my parents together in one frame, smiling, reflecting love for each other. 

Ever since my toddler days, I had seen parents of other kids holding hands, sharing a bedroom, laughing and talking. It was a rare sight in my home, in my parent’s life. They slept in different rooms, dined at different times, didn’t watch television together, didn’t visit temples together, not even my school. Their verbal and non-verbal communication was minimal, they rarely fought or argued. Though a couple, they held on to their individuality strongly. Their indifference against each other affected me. I would watch the parents of other kids in awe and in envy. I really longed to see it between mine. I often fantasized, wished and prayed to see my parents in those acts. To see them as one and not two. To make the reality bearable, I created an image in my mind, of my parents smiling, beside each other in unison. I kept his imaginary picture concealed in my heart and mind, my little secret wish. Whenever I read stories of hope and miracles, book like ‘The Secret’ by Rhonda Bayern, their image would appear before my eyes. I hoped and believed, that the imagination will become a reality someday. Eventually, this wish transformed into an eternal vision. 

On an occasion, I planned a family dinner, just so that I could seat them together. Mom slipped away with an excuse to make hot chappati and also that she was fasting. I insisted her to sit, but she ran a hand on my cheek and retired to the kitchen. Dad didn’t help in my attempt too. Instead, he announced the start of the cricket match on T.V. I sulked through the dinner. Frustrated, I confronted them as to why they do not behave like other couples? Dad got away with it, without a word, throwing his hands in the air as if I was being silly. Mom reassured, they love each other, but didn’t make it a show. She asserted that I was being filmy. Several such attempts failed in future. Every failure weakened my hope, blurred my vision of seeing them in one frame. Time passed. I grew up, but nothing changed. Even my wedding album didn’t have a picture of them together. They were perfect at everything, with everybody, except with each other. My vision kept replaying, haunting me, but now at bigger intervals. 

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20 years later….. 

I braked the car with a screech outside the hospital entrance. Leaving the keys in the watchman’s hand, I ran towards the elevator. While trying to regain my physical balance, I pressed the elevator button multiple times. Impatient, I began skipping over the steps and reached the fourth floor. 

“Wait, Madam! You can’t ente…..” 

I pushed the doorkeeper away and rushed into the Critical Care Unit of the hospital. The ventilators whooshed. The big white hall smelt of antiseptics.  Half-conscious patients lay in bed. My feet felt heavy. My pace slowed. I reached my Dad’s bed. My brother, nurse and doctor looked at me with a sad expression. Clenching my fist around the bed’s rod, I looked at Dad’s face, tongue stuck out from underneath the tube in his mouth, his head fallen on the left. Seeing no numbers, a blank line on the vitals’ display, I retreated to the wall. 

“What is it? Why no numbers on the display? Why do we have to switch off the ventilator?” I blabbered looking at the doctor. 

His sorry expression and sympathetic eyes answered my questions, but I failed to accept what was obvious. 

As my brother’s hand reached out to me, I ran outside. My mind screaming, 

“He’s dead. HE IS DEAD!” 

My mother emerged from the elevator. Seeing me with teary, puffy eyes, the flask of tea dropped from her hand. I reached for her, she fell on the floor, tearing my dress. My hands and heart went weak holding so much pain, not just mine but hers as well. In a numb state, I went through the preparations of the last rites. The tears kept running and drying. Many people moved around Dad in a mourning state. Panditji reciting mantras. His body was tied to the bamboo frame, wrapped in a white sheet, covered with flowers, his face bore a serene look. My brothers bent to lift the pyre, as Panditji announced it was time for a departure from home. 

“NO WAIT! WAIT!” my mother stopped everyone. 

She dragged herself closer to him, placed her hand over his body, and brought her face next to his. 

“Please click a picture of me with my beloved!” she requested, as she managed to smile. 

Her words jolted me out of my trance-like state. Lights flashed from the phone cameras. Tears began rolling down and my lips broke into a childlike glee. This miraculous moment had brought my childhood fantasy, my haunting vision, come to life. The law of attraction of the universe had complied.