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[tziganespeaks]

Eulogy

Does time heal all wounds? Really?

I’m yet to find that out.

We both were school-time sweethearts. He was my confidante, my telepathic-pal, my cornerstone and all fancy words to best describe the person who’d be your first and last resort in every situation. Basically, he was my lobster. (FRIENDS fan can give me a cheer.)

We were absolute suckers for chai, street food and that basically explains, our long evening hang outs. PDA was always a part of our timeline, since it was always full of pictures of us, every now and then. And we gave a few people “couple goals” even when this internet jargon was yet to be included into the urban dictionary. Yeah, we were kids. We were naïve. But we were so much into each other.

24th March, morning around 8am, regional news covered a footage of an accident in a dam, wherein 4 students, who just appeared their intermediate exams, drowned. No one survived. Heart-breaking, isn’t it? Barely 18, just breathing in the vacation aura a day back, and now, no more.

My lobster was one of the four. The footages were heart-wrenching, and so was the aftermath.

I still remember, how desperately I tried shutting everything out but all of it sledgehammering my not-so-sane-head and already shattered heart. I remember how, re-reading our old texts or listening to call recordings used to put me to ease for a while only to break me down the next moment. I have been through nights where I stared and negative space, and keep staring till I doze off after what feels like forever. It hurts to think that I may go a day without pausing to remember him, because Mom told me that time heals all pain. Time heals? Does it? Maybe time helped me get acquainted with the harsh reality that I lost someone close. Time taught me how to be strong, and death of a close one taught me that few things are inevitable.

But here I am today, functioning right in the face of tragedy, because somehow I learnt the language of grief. It’s been 4 years now and although, it hurts a little less it won’t evade completely.

I have a defence mechanism here. I resort to writing whenever I felt I was losing my grip. I chose to write about him then. I choose to write about him now. Beyond layers of figment and fictions, I write about him because I know, years down the lane, I would search for a tiny space of belongingness every now and then. The illegible, hammed in scribbles are blank verses of those picture-perfect memories I shared with him. He’s the character born out of remnants, curled up on my tongue but never said loud. And behind every clichéd line or metaphor I wrote about him, I only realize that there’s more than what language can name itself.

Someday when my skin would be too wrinkled, eyesight too weak, I’d run my weak, trembling fingers along the scribbles and summon upon those buried memories.

Truth being told, Yes, people came in after him, they left as well. And I realize that the void still remains. There are times, I remember him a little less. But then at times, I want the whole world to come closing in.

At times, I accept that it’s normal to ponder over memories of a lover, long lost,

But then, at times “normal” acts like a blanket too short for me when the night is awfully cold.

Most of the times, I function normally and seldom, remember him.

But only to realize, I’m damn good at lying.

I don’t know how many baby steps I would take to be finally whole again, or how much sanity would be required to sink in harsh reality – But one thing I know, is that I won’t let anything go uninked, untold. I won’t eulogize a person, so kind and charming and of course, who’s my guardian angel now, in any short essay or poem or figment. I have lived my loss and love in reminiscent and half-written diary entries. All of what I have written, and all that I’m yet to write – All of them, combined on my tombstone, would be an eulogy to the star shining brighter than usual, each night.

Yours,

D.