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My heart was almost in my mouth, rather all the way up to my eyes brimming with tears at the sight of Talin. He was holding the flag proudly as he stamped his feet to the ground to honour the chief guest. Talin was being declared the sports captain of his house for the current year in the Investiture ceremony of his school. I was invited for the same event as my ward was chosen to be the head girl of the school and all the chosen leaders representing the school on the dais standing tall and proud. Talin plays a lot, has excellent stamina, vigour and vitality of a growing tall handsome teenager in 11’th grade. He studies hard, well mannered, soft spoken and he is friendly to my son, perhaps one of the few fellows who doesn’t bully my timid son and is kind. They play football together and they fight sometimes over ” whose fault was it ” over the goal that sometimes costs them a win in friendly matches. These boys are noisy on the ground.
But there is a silence around Talin, a lost look. The one that I can sense but can’t reach out to always. It’s a deep sense of loss that the boy carries around him. He doesn’t talk about it but he feels it too. Talin lost his mother to pancreatic cancer about three years ago.
His mother Kamlesh was my next-door neighbour and one of the most gorgeous beautiful women I have ever seen. I still remember how a handsome couple struggled to carry their filled suitcases in the vacant flat opposite us. Finally, we were being blessed with neighbours after six years of lonely existence in our tower. They were both so good looking and soon three kids moved in as well. They joined the school in the campus where my kids were studying so we would bump into them on many occasions in the staircase, lifts, basement, school gate, school corridor and in the park.
His mother Kamlesh was my next-door neighbour and one of the most gorgeous beautiful women I have ever seen. I still remember how a handsome couple struggled to carry their filled suitcases in the vacant flat opposite us. Finally, we were being blessed with neighbours after six years of lonely existence in our tower. They were both so good looking and soon three kids moved in as well. They joined the school in the campus where my kids were studying so we would bump into them on many occasions in the staircase, lifts, basement, school gate, school corridor and in the park.There was a certain discipline around the house as I observed their schedule always on time, studying and playing in the evenings. These three kids would come knocking on my door to ask my children if they were available to play. Gradually the kids became great friends in the playground and you could see them making more noise, sweaty with flushed faces playing extra hours whenever the school was off. They just began the day early.
Both Talin’ s parents were extremely shy, reserved but friendly. We observed each other but hardly made any conversation. I loved interacting with Kamlesh occasionally as we bumped into each other in the common areas especially when I was carrying a whole lot of laundry items and she would be doing something too. Kamlesh had big dreams for her son like any mother, wanted to ensure that her son got good education and she would often tell me how she felt a little less confident educating her child in an English medium school while she was Hindi speaking, well-educated lady with roots in the village. She expressed that at times she might face more difficulties to make him understand few subjects especially Science and English as the grades would become higher. She tutored him along with her sister’s two kids and I could see how passionate she was about education. Life just went around being good neighbours, quietly till I bumped into her one fine day in the lift having lost oodles of weight reduced to half, with bruised hands, dark circles around her eyes being escorted into a car. Her husband said he was taking her for a routine health check-up. Clearly it didn’t appear like that. Kamlesh was dealing with something else. It suddenly dawned upon me for it was months the house was eerily quiet, loads of visitors evident from the visible footwear around the door, silenced doorbell with low levels of activity. Kamlesh’s husband had even picked up a fight with a neighbour on top who was extremely noisy at night creating disturbance. The police had to be called.
There was something that had been missing and I didn’t even notice till I saw her. I gathered enough courage to enquire from her sister who had moved in and I knew her from our sparse interactions. I had seen the two sisters going for a very early morning walk with Kamlesh’s head covered with a fancy scarf. By the time the world woke up they were often returning. She told me that the other two kids were hers and how the two sisters supported each other since childhood to make sure all kids had good opportunities and these days she was here to be with her sister.
She disclosed that Kamlesh had been diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer, surgically not resectable and was on chemotherapy for months now. Her medical options were limited and they were hoping for a miracle to cure her. It all fitted in for me now, the flurry of concerned visitors, the quiet house, children not playing anymore and that look on the couple’s face as they hurried. The reserved couple hardly ever spoke or displayed what they were going through. I was in shock myself at the new information as I gathered myself and tried to keep a straight face while I interacted with her parents who happened to be there. The kids were studying in the other room finishing homework.
Now that the cat was out of the bag, I enquired from Kamlesh, how she felt and how was she managing and going through it all? We finally talked that evening for a long time. The cancer was taking its toll and was leaving Kamlesh weaker and in more pain by the day. It was sad to see her going through it but she was still smiling, holding a brave face and she shared her dream she had for Talin. I dropped in as and when I could and would meet her in bedroom where she was mostly confined because of the pain and weakness and be with her. She would sometimes request to open the curtains of the wall sized glass window of her bedroom to let the setting sun’s rays in. She wanted her room flooded with its orange red glow. She loved it, she said. It gave her strength. Kamlesh never gave up living in any moment and I admired her silently for her bravery knowing what lay ahead. She had embraced it all so beautifully. I was called once or twice to help her with her unbearable pain and once when she was drowsy. I used to feel the tightening in myself during those times and I often wondered how she went through it all? How much going on was there before the final going for someone?
It is tough, takes immense courage and strength of a different kind while a certain tranquillity slowly settles as one is surrendered to the divine will and is slowly detaching from the human bonds that bind and even the body gives up.
In our last few months, we all just sat in silence, I often prayed by her bedside and sometimes we talked about the good stuff and laughed. Kamlesh breathed her last on one of those days when Corona wave was at peak and her husband took her to hospital as she wasn’t responding and I was informed and requested very subtly to keep a check on the boys till they got more help and returned. I was more than happy; these kids were absolutely “no trouble”. They were so well behaved in the midst of it all. It was one of the most difficult days to pass knowing I may not be seeing Kamlesh ever as she was escorted to the hospital and she passed away two days later. She was taken from the hospital to the house in her village where her entire last rites were performed quietly. I guessed it from the locked status of the house for weeks and I could only gather courage to enquire to have my worst fear confirmed about four days later. It took me sometime to knock on their door at least a month later when the family returned as the kids had begun school. Talin was back in school along with his cousins. His aunt had moved in to help them shift gears in life for few months.
Life has continued and Talin has slowly grown up and is doing well in studies. He has never needed extra help that his mother thought he would. His father supports him trying to fix his meals, taking care of his needs to the best of his capacity. At the moment there was no remarriage talk and he has grown a long beard, looks exact opposite version of the man I saw the first day in the lift helping his wife shift in the new flat. We smile at each other and exchange pleasantries. We are silent friends and he treats me like an elder sister and I get occasional messages from Kamlesh’s phone on festivals. There are few things to talk about and he is still as reserved as he was. They shifted two blocks away and kids still play in the evenings.
Talin rarely talks about his mom and whenever he comes to knock on my door to enquire about his playmate, we make petty conversation. I make sure I offer him something to eat while he waits. He is a sweet darling growing up to be a handsome young man.
Grief and loss are awkward to talk about except that they are felt. Hearts open towards each other and no words are needed. Grief ‘s language is silence and empathy.
In fact, Talin was watching the parents clicking photographs with their wards silently and we locked our gaze and I beckoned if he would honour me with a click to remember. He obliged and smiled; his smile is just like his mother. Kamlesh’ s son has taken his first step in a leadership role today in an English medium school and I know that she watched him from heaven as the skies poured in Delhi yesterday… The showers of blessing, blessing of a mother raining from father sky.
