Said No One
Said No One
That night, I found a book in the old rusty drawer. Covered with a blanket of dust. Brushed away the whole dust and opened it; many pages were tampered, burned, and torn. I thought of putting it back in the same drawer; suddenly, in between 6 papers came out and fell. I picked them up and kept them on my study table, as there was no power at home and the torch was running out of batteries. I lit up candles and started looking into those pages. As it was pin-drop silent and deadly dark around in the room, antique vibes surrounded it. Letters were partially visible and very thin; maybe the writer did not apply good force to the pen while writing. I, however, figured it out and started reading. “Yes, I cried when I failed the medicine entrance exam, and I cried when I got into BA by adjusting my education due to our financial strength. Soon after passing out with only BA convocation papers and no job, it was heartbreaking. I felt very bad when relatives pointed it out and talked about it wontedly during any family gatherings or parties. I cried with joy when I was offered a job with rupees 750 a month. When I heard my dad was yet to retire and I was taking up all responsibilities on my shoulders, I pleaded. When my sister made steps towards her in-law’s home, I cried. My wife was suffering with delivery pains; I cried. And cried a lot. I cried heavily after my parents' demise. Not as though they were absent, because I cannot be present without them. Yes, men do cry; it’s not because they are emotional, it’s because we are Most Empathetic in Nature. No one knows and never tries to find out what’s running inside our minds, because we never think about us; we always think about our families, surroundings, future plans, and actions. Now, I’m happy that I’ve put all my emotions out and left with zero.” And that’s it…. Thereafter, pages burned out completely.
[Clock bells twice, time: 2 am]
Ran down the stairs very fast and knocked on Mom’s door. She opened, and I entered to talk about these pages, how and who wrote them. She took those papers into her hands and put on her spectacles. Tears rolled in her eyes.
I held her hand and asked, “What happened, Maa ?”
She replied saying, “Your papa used to write all his feelings and talks, which he couldn’t convey to anyone. These are a few pages from your father’s diary, which he wrote in his last days. And I missed that diary after his demise.”
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