Robin uncle, Dipesh’s father died of a sudden heart attack when we were just promoted to class twelve. The news came to us and we rushed to their house.
That day I searched for him everywhere, silently. No one was there to ask for it. Everyone was plunged in grief. Nipa Aunty was fainting continuously and Dipesh’s grandmother had fallen ill. Mohon uncle, Nipa Aunty’s brother was sitting like a stone statue. My parents were standing baffled.
When I did not find him anywhere, I peeped into the attic. There we used to play hide and seek, sometimes, in our childhood. It was dark and dusty with unused stuff. When my eyes got set in the murky maze, I found him, sitting on the floor folding his knees to his chest. His eyes were blank as if he was staring at nothing. I touched him, he looked at me vehemently. It killed me. I hugged him. He exploded in bitter tears upon my strong shoulder. That day I promised myself “I’ll never leave him alone, never.” He is my responsibility.
We never confessed our love for each other, we never feel the urgency to tell, “I love you”; we just remained for one another at every turn of our lives. Language has its limitation; it cannot express every emotion we feel.
Mohon uncle never married. He was a celibate even at forty-five and took all the responsibilities of his sister and nephew.
Till school, we were in the same boat, but Dipesh scored excellent in science and I always had a knack for language and literature. So, we got separated in our next.
Time tickled on our lives. We started meeting in coffee shops, parks, cine society, here and there, and everywhere.
To be continued…
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.