By Mirduvikaa Gokul
I stood in front of my birthday cake. I blew out the candles and she hugged me, wrapping her warm fingers around my skin. Punitha Mummy was here.
We went on a boating trip. I sat at the far end of the boat shivering from the cold. She covered me with her red cotton sari and held me against her chest. Punitha Mummy was here.
I was studying. She came in with a plate of sambar rice and fed me with her hands. Punitha Mummy was here.
The astrologer’s card read that something bad was going to fall upon the family. The astrologer left. I felt someone hold my hand and kiss my small palm. Punitha Mummy was here.
I sat near the hospital bed, holding her hand. Nothing would happen, because Punitha Mummy was still here.
We went to see her at the hospital. The bed was empty. The sheets folded. I sat at the room entrance and cried. Punitha Mummy wasn’t here.
My marks came. I got school second. I prayed to god in the puja room and placed vibhuti on my forehead. That was my celebration. She wasn’t there to celebrate with me. She would never be there anymore. I wiped my eyes with the sleeves of my shirt and left the room.
Punitha Mummy was never going to be here.
By Mirduvikaa Gokul
Comments