Ayesha-Rehan: 10-01-1997

4

03/09/2015 by Siddiqui Fayesal

Rehan,

Divya is down with a fever since the past week. I have been literally living there since she fell ill. Jr. has been getting along with Jia and I think Divya is learning to get on.

It’s like a dirty joke played by Providence that we humans “get” over the dead and “get” on living life like nothing happened. Of course, I’m not really talking about Divya here. I’m just talking of simple human nature. No matter how close, how beloved a person has been to us we are forced to go on.

I think I’m being very skeptical here, Rehan. It’s your doing, this is. For if I sit back and really think about it, I can’t thank the forces that are enough for this limit that has been set upon the human soul. Imagine if we were left stranded in the oasis of life without pulling out of self-pity and sadness. I don’t think Divya would have ever been able to take another step and wished that she woke up alive in the morning. But, Rehan, how long would we be in mourning for our loved ones? For how long can we stay alive and not live? Or, perhaps, we’d transfer the love and attention and hope on another.

I’m sure that is it. If not for Jia, Divya would be nothing but a shell of skin and bones and empathy. I am seeing her waste herself in front of me. I see it so clearly what she is doing to herself, just enough to be with Jia. The girl and here I mean Divya, for she is, what, 25, too early to call a woman, break down all the time, and then grappling on to some happy memory and pull herself out of the rigmarole and sickness of her soul.

Ram was a good man.

You already know that, I know, but she was showing me her pendant yesterday. She opened it and showed me what it housed inside the tiny little cavity, not bigger than to fit a 50p coin. Three strands of his hair, Rehan. They were only an inch long, but it was her only treasure. She was smiling that watery smile that women smile when they’re mighty torn between sadness and happiness. It was his idea to save a bit of himself for her, she told me. She teased him a lot when he cut it off from his fringe telling him that he was going bald anyway.

“One for you, one for Jia and one for me so I never go completely bald”, Divya quoted Ram and laughed aloud. She bawled louder as if the she felt terribly guilty for having laughed so openly.

That was a week ago. She hasn’t been talking since she fell ill. The doctor was called and he put her on sedatives. He says it’s normal in such cases.

Normal, get it?

I’ll go now, dear, and get Jr. from school. He has been increasingly asking about you. I am sure he knows that’s something is not right but afraid to put it in words. I’m sorry I couldn’t write to you earlier, Rehan.

It’s getting more painful for me too. I hadn’t planned to write for a long time. I cannot tolerate the wait, the spiking hope every time a postman walks by and the crashing disappointment when he just nods and walks away.

I convince myself every night before I sleep that it’ll be over soon.

I convince myself every morning after I wake up that it’s just another day.

I did not sign up for this, Rehan. I deserve better.

Ayesha.

Siddiqui F.
(02.09.2015)

4 thoughts on “Ayesha-Rehan: 10-01-1997

  1. Ah… I get the feeling that I may not like where this is heading.

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