Catharsis

Her eyes were neither dry nor wet. The tears welled up from time to time but very skillfully she controlled them from streaming down. Her mind was neither in the past nor in the present; she was totally lost. To people she seemed calm and composed. She was absolutely oblivious to the rhythmic chanting of certain dua in Arabic and the billowing incense smoke that she had always disliked too much.

An old woman sitting next to her put her hand on her knee and said, “Elders in the village say if you taste a pinch of dust from the grave of the deceased you’ll be granted patience to endure this pain.”

Everything eluded her mind. “She is not dead I know.” She could only mumble that.

It was difficult to come to terms with her death. Her mother who was her sole companion… who left quietly without saying good bye, without complaining or without any remorse.

It was the tenth Sunday since her passing and her mind was swirling in the old memories. She held her face in hands and the lone tear escaped her eye; leaving the trail of countless miseries.

“Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day,
Little Tommy wants to play.”

The teacher was reading this poem to the kindergarten students. She saw her mother walking past her classroom. She stopped for a while looked at her from the large window pane. An elegant smile appeared on her lips and after making sure she is fine in the class she moved forward.
She went to the same school where her mother taught.

She was just five and mother would buy her a soda and samosa everyday without fail. She would quietly sit in the corner of the huge ground, would take a couple of sips and bites and leave the rest. When you are not foodie… you simply are not since the beginning. That bottle of soda and samosa, however, became the symbol of mother’s love and care. For many years this fact pleased her that mother loved her the most. She in fact did… she taught her, fed her, and spent a lot on her through out. It is so mean to calculate the mother’s love with material things… but she couldn’t help it… perhaps that was the only way to reassure herself in the trying times that mother loved her too much.

The best time of the year would be when mother would buy her a bundle of new books, notebooks, pencils and crayons. Totally mesmerized she would look at the colorful illustration and bring the book close to her nose. The smell of the new paper would simply be intoxicating.

The memories made her too emotional. She broke down… after so many days. After her crying had spent she went upstairs in the attic… looked around for the carton of books. It had become the carton of memories instead. She opened it and took out all the books her mother had bought her from the book fair at school over the years. She picked up one book… leafed through the glossy pages that had turned yellow with time. She tried to feel the tenderness of mother in the pages… she was again overcome by the strong gust of emotion. She put everything back and came down.

Her mother always encouraged her love for books. Mother herself read only two books during the last 5 years of her life. The Quran and her prayer book. She picked up mother’s dog-eared prayer book from the shelf… this book had been witnessed to so many of her prayers and held innumerable tears on its pages. She put down the book gingerly… this book sat on the shelf right at the back of her notebook. She opened the notebook and started typing… she typed incessantly for an hour. She smiled looking at the words scattered on the page. The words that carried pain and apathy at the same time. When she was done with the typing she started a self conversation. She talked and talked as if she was talking to mother and then said dolefully, “When will you come back Maa… I am waiting for you.”

She opened her eyes; it was another painful morning; she was emotionally wrecked. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and for a moment she couldn’t recognize herself. She had become so pale like a mal nourished child and the dark circles under eyes made her look like a walking ghost. She turned her eyes away from her ugly reflection and thought did I really love her. And then her mind took her years back into the memory lane… the day when she bullied a school fellow. The first and last time she ever bullied someone and that too only for mother’s sake. She grabbed a year junior girl by the collar and said angrily, “If you ever dared to utter a single word against my mother, I’ll fix you.” She recalled the scare in the eyes of that girl and smiled. Time had certainly changed her, mellowed her down… had made her less expressive… less expressive and over sensitive.

She took out a piece of paper and wrote down with a pen, “Come back soon… I need you Maa!” She put the paper under the square crystal paper weight with the other notes to her mother. She stared at the paper weight and then lifted it in disbelief. He had gifted it on her birthday… a custom made crystal paper weight with her name inscribed in the golden letters. She felt neither hate nor love for him. She swiftly closed the window of his memories.

After a couple of tranquil days the montage of mother’s memories were again playing in her mind. It was the fifth month since her passing and she was still waiting for her return. An insane thought had stuck to her mind that mother would one day ring the bell and walk into the house… she would make that house a home once again. She closed her eyes but the sleep had been so elusive since some time. Her mind seemed to be working so actively digging up memory after memory. She recalled the day when she took part in the race… she was just six then. The kids had to eat banana and then ran towards the finish line. Banana… an edible kept her from running in time. By the time she finished eating and ran all the kids had already crossed the line.

“Aw! Miss Nasreen’s daughter couldn’t win the race.” One of the teachers sympathized. At six she felt as if being a teacher’s daughter losing a race is a vice. She couldn’t forget that look on mother’s face… it was just a look she couldn’t make anything out of it… but still that look said everything.

She felt the pang in her heart. She changed her side, adjusted the pillow but the memories refused to leave her. She lost all the races for years to come. She wasn’t bad at running, her agility was remarkable but still she couldn’t win until she was in the eighth standard. By that time winning had already lost its charm… trying gave her more pleasure. This thought, however, gave her immense satisfaction that once… only once she won it for her mother.

This house was her mother’s. This house was killing her slowly but surely. She could feel mother’s presence everywhere, in every nook and corner of this house… in the red bricks, in the lawn on the veranda in the backyard and in each and every room… everything seemed so haunted after her demise. One day she asked mother, “Maa this book says Shahrukh Khan’s father was from Shah Wali Katal, where was Agha Gee’s haveli?”
“It was in Mohalla Gul Badshah Gee.”
“How far is it from Shah Wali Katal?”
“Not that far.”
“This means Agha Gee was his father’s neighbor.” Both of them laughed. It was their last laugh together… the last time she saw mother’s eyes full of life. The last time…

It was an evening of forty-fifth Sunday in that house without her. The fall was in the full swing… the loneliness had descended on the Mulberry trees in the backyard. The silence was tormenting… she didn’t hear anything from mother after months of waiting and the silence in that house was also excruciating. She had become so weak physically and mentally. The dark circles under eyes had become darker. Struggle had become burden… the food seemed so bland. Mother was her plate partner. One day she took a morsel from mother’s plate and felt the food from her plate somehow seems more delicious… and since then she starting eating with her in the single plate. The thought of food nauseated her… she lifted herself up… her bones made a cracking sound. Her face turned pale and she felt contraction in her stomach… she bent on her knees and threw up; nothing except water.

A little later she wrote down a note to her mother:

“I am frozen in your pain as if your dying eyes said to me “statue”. Please release me from that… help me find my way out from the labyrinth of memories. I have lost myself… please release me from that pain.”

The silence continued for many weeks. Her mind was caught between hope and despair between sanity and insanity.

It was the middle of the night… she came out of the bed and took few steps. Her mind was active but the steps she took were so heavy.

“If you are not coming then I’ll come to you.” She had scribbled a note to her mother two hours ago. Then she took four tablets of Valium5 simultaneously… an attempt to end her life to release her from every burden.

She took few more steps and then fell on the floor… she was cold sweating… she felt as if she is going down and down towards some unknown destination. That very moment she vomited and then again and again… the death had refused to accept her. She was lying there and the myriad of voices were hammering her mind…

“She has expired… said a doc”
“She couldn’t see the happiness of her daughter… a wailing aunt”
“Khala has left us… a weeping cousin”
“May she rest in peace… his words”
“You have to move on… an optimistic aunt”
“Life is beautiful… a cousin”
“She had lived her life… another aunt”
“She was a great lady… a colleague”
“My mother passed away… she informed her friend”
“Oh gosh… her uncle’s worst words”
“What will you do now? A so-called well wisher”
“He is getting married again… to a friend”
“Why did you allow him… a bitter cousin”
“Allow him if you love him… a sensible friend”
“Love is about moving on not stopping…


The last sentence brought a smile on her face… still on the floor she passed out. She was revived the next morning with a throbbing pain in her temples. She stayed on the floor for some time and then lifted herself up with difficulty. She still had that heaviness… she pulled the curtains apart. It was raining outside. The first rain of the winter… it was cold but she went out and stretched her arm out to feel the rains drops. Something flashed in her mind... was it a dream, an epiphany or hallucination. She recalled her mother saying that those who die never come back… there is no such thing as re-incarnation. Love is about moving on… not stopping. She smiled… and then laughed from the core of her heart.

She stepped out in the rain, spread her arms and took a deep breath. She saw her… when she was ten running in the vast empty play ground of her school. It was raining; she was running with her arms wide spread and her face towards the sky. The gusts of strong winds were tickling her earlobes.

Her mind wandered back in time once again but it was not painful anymore… it redeemed her of everything. She was completely soaked yet not feeling cold… she in fact felt her pain melting away in the downpour.