Chitra's Letter

Sunetra,

I sat at the commode, almost all of tonight, and now that life is breaking into dawn, I still cannot believe you are no more. This was the same place which you joked was your 'shrine', in my wardrobe dozens of your clothes lie, as they did till yesterday, when you insisted they fitted me better because you lost weight. I cannot come to terms, yet, that a phone call from your number informs me that you have gone. Where could you have gone, I had jested and thought, until various other friends confirmed. You gave in to your heart, Suni? How could you? 

When I went to your place, everything was the same, your room and its detailed and particular contents -- each one handpicked, reasoned and placed by you. Too many people surrounded your 'body'. I could not also understand how in a matter of minutes you became a body from your name. Some of your friends informed your parents of all that you wanted when you died -- your watches to be given away and you to be dressed in your favourite, Seiko, an ironed white shirt and your best fitted light blue jeans, only till the Medical College. Sadly, the reforms and rituals of the relatives did not let any of your wish be, including the one you had told me -- that you wanted a certain song to be played while people waited for your last journey.

While I wished to sit beside you and touch you for the last time, I could only see you being stretched out by your cousins. While I wished to wail, I could not. It was a fight between my private mourning and public consoling. I was there for all those who needed a firm friend's shoulder. Suni, if only you would know how people have loved you, and how they do!

It took me hours to breakdown, inside my bathroom, and it hasn't stopped since. Wishes -- yours, mine -- all now remain unfulfilled. What happens of what we shared? Where do I go? Like all my promises, Suni, if there were only a place to follow, you know it, I would be there, with you, only with you.

But I have to put up a face and return to your room tomorrow and play the brave button. I wish I could be selfish, or a choice. Alas, they too, like you, seemed to have abandoned me in a complete void. Yet, here you are, laughing, as I pour out overwhelming emotions into this paper, as if writing letters were only your authority. It would remain unpostedd perhaps unread too. And yes, as I look around to locate the laugh, you are not.

I do not know what to do next. They say life goes on. Come back. Come back and tell me how it does.

Chitra.