After five years

It was my last year of college. I was going to complete my M.A. at my home college in Women’s Studies. I was quite accustomed to the daily journey. And it was not far from Santagar except for the muddy uneven village road that I had to cross every day balancing on my bicycle to reach the main road. I kept the cycle in Abani uncle’s potato Shop.

“Hi, uncle? How are you?”

“Fine beta. How is your Mamoni?”

Uncle never asked of me, every time he asked for Mamoni. And not only Abani uncle, every friend and relative just cared for her. As if my father’s death had only affected my mom, and not me, not five years before or now. But I was carrying this daily struggle to continue my study without living in a hostel comfortably and jovially enjoying life with friends. But this matters nothing to anyone. I grumbled.

The bus horned and I got up.

“Bye uncle”.

“Take care.”

 Something blackened my mood. After my father’s death, everyone got anxious with Mamoni, even myself. How couldn’t I be? I was her only child. I never left her alone, and I never thought of studying at another Institution. I started tuition because my father’s pension was not enough for us. And Mamoni had to remain under continuous medical supervision for these long years. She was weak physically as well as mentally.

The sudden loss, threw me into a sudden maturity as if I had grown a lot. I could feel it when I spent my time with others I could not enjoy the time so freely like them, something kept gnawing inside me and I had to get up and head for home. But who cared when my heart cried for adoration and pampering? I also liked to be treated as a child within the lap of Mamoni. I also sought a hand of care upon my head. Feeling my eyes getting wet I checked myself. I did not want to draw attention or sympathy from any unknown, in a public place. Was not I a brave girl?

To be continued…

munu.ruku2020

Hey, I am Munmun, the phoenix fabulist who wants to tell you stories. I love to read stories and I love to weave stories. I feel life is an amalgamation of multiple stories, colourful threads, and threads of pain, pleasure, hope, and hopelessness. We just need to pick those hues and arrange them, knitting them with our own emotions and perception. So let’s celebrate the stories of life.