The Unread Obituary

The month of May always made him contemplate about love and relationships. It was the month which celebrated the birthday of a very important person in his life and also her going away to be one with the Supreme. Her face was now a photo locked away in his locker and the memory of it had begun to fade. But she came to him in many ways when he was least expecting her.
She flashed across his mind at times when he found many alphabets in his daughter’s handwriting similar to hers, sometimes in perfect round balls of chapatis that were served to him, he also had a few déjà vu moments when he saw his wife sitting with their children in a quilt on cold early mornings, taking their studies. Sometimes he remembered a faint scar just above the lips and once in a while he saw a slight resemblance to her in his wife when he saw her face glow with love and warmth of motherhood, though she was nowhere close to her in looks. Of late he found more of
her in his fast-growing daughter. She reminded him of her fire and fury and an indefatigable spirit; a devil may care fighting attitude and her beautiful smile. His daughter had taken her smile and laughed with the same tilt of her head as hers. Sometimes he remembered a silky purple salwar kameez and at other times just two dangling arms covered in a brown and white sweater ready to hold the little girl she had borne. He also remembered two thick, long and very black braids dangling over him as she would stand over him, reading all that he wrote in his diary or as he solved his crossword puzzles.
As he thought about it, he recalled many more things about her. He was numbed by her sudden demise and had lost interest in his life. He was jolted to reality and his responsibility, when two little hands, all of two and a half years, came and asked him to give back her mother. He remarried for the sake of his daughter who knew only one mother. Every Mother’s Day, his daughter celebrated the motherhood of the one who had not borne her, while the other, the real one, was totally forgotten like a stranger. But he remembered that woman’s love for her child as she died saving her from an oncoming bus and he regretted not being able to give that woman her rightful place because he could not stir still waters and hurt living people by claiming a place for someone long gone.
He had not forgotten her and she remained very much in his heart as he wrote another heartfelt note to her in his diary; a sort of Mother’s Day wish from his daughter to the mother whom she did not remember… a delayed obituary which was never to be published or read by anyone.

5 Comments Add yours

  1. Insider says:

    And here you are getting this story published in the thinking pen! Congratulations ma’am. A beautiful yet sad story, contemplation sure comes with a lot of realisations and memories


    1. A. Shruti says:

      Thanks a lot!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. tanujadarkar says:

    A great story comes from great storytellers. Ma’am you are the greatest storyteller for me and my friends. This story is no exception . Love your blog, your small poems… everything you post is the best. All the best for the future and I am sure that you will keep on entertaining us through your magical blog.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. A. Shruti says:

      Thank you very much for the wishes Tanuj. I really don’t know how to respond to your compliments, son. You leave me speechless! Love and hugs 🤗


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