This is to let you know that all of us are getting on with our lives and managing somehow. It’s been 5 years today. And finally, I think we are beginning to cope. I did catch Ma crying silently in the kitchen and trying desperately to hide it from the rest of us. Baba doesn’t talk as much as he used to. He made a brave effort to hide behind the newspaper this morning to avoid any talk. We tried to be as normal with each other today morning when I left for work. Ma made your favourite ‘kolkata noodles’ for breakfast. The one she always used to make for us back when we were kids, with lots of onions and eggs. Ro loves it too. We never discussed you. I will go back home this evening and I am sure we wouldn’t talk about you at all. Except for the garland of jasmine, there is no trace in the house of how much we miss you.
Last week, Ma asked me to pack up your coding books in a box over the weekend. For the last 5 years they have been in your bookcase and I hadn’t had the heart to suggest we pack those up and donate them. She suggested donating last week but Baba said the technology has changed so much that the books will be redundant. I think somewhere deep inside we are still refusing to let go. We have donated one of your computers to the blind school where we sponsor a meal on your birthday. The other one is still lying in your room and occasionally used by Ro for playing games. But I think we will have to give that away too soon because the configuration is too old. Your wardrobe now houses Ro’s clothes and toys. He didn’t want me to give away your fluorescent green windcheater. He says he will like to wear it when he grows up. Ugh! Such taste! Grin. He is also eying your black electric guitar and your tennis racquet. He was trying out your Nike the other day (the one that Baba had bought for you and which you hardly wore). He still has a long way to go to fit in those shoes but he is trying earnestly. Just so that you know.
This year the Pujo is in September instead of October just like the year you went away. Ro’s got a whole set of new clothes and is very excited about them. I bought a saree for Ma from Chennai last month. She never buys anything for herself since you left. Says she has enough. I am desperately trying to fill the empty hole you left in their lives. I am not doing it too well as you can see. They still miss you as much. Though they consciously try not to make it obvious. I miss you too, you know. But I haven’t still had the time to grieve. Since you left, my life went through several cart-wheels that left me breathless and distracted. I still feel you are always there, right around the corner and if I really call out, you will be here instantly. Just that maybe I don’t call you loud enough. I guess I will grieve at my own pace. Maybe I will never grieve. Because you never really left me. But I miss you. Your amazing voice. The strumming of your guitar. The sight of you sleeping like a baby in the morning. Our conversations that made no sense to anyone other than ourselves. Your broad shoulders to cry on. The assurance of always having you around because you worked from home. Your ability to make me laugh.
Ok, I goto run now before the tears turn into torrents. I too have million things to finish before I pack up for home. You keep smiling. And please please help us to cope.