Thursday, December 22, 2011

A Chapter :If you think you are in it, drop her a mail

It has been almost a decade, I have not heard from her. The profiles at social networks were replaced with a notification that user no longer exists; the mail account was terminated, on the Christmas a decade back. The reds were replaced with black in her life and dreams were avoided by sleeping pills. This is all I know about her, as I imagined from her last letter to me saying “Chapter of my life, my city of love: Over.” I knew she will never be coming back to this part of world. I am writing this mail to you all, with hope that someday you all will see it. I am Zaania, The doctor and the psychiatrist of our Tiya.
That night, of January when I had seen her for first time she was all quiet, in her eyes there was not something I would say a bride’s fear. It was a fear of losing and that fear made her speak in front of that old man. She could not take vows, rather collapsed. She was brought to that city hospital, neither self-poisoned, nor heart attack but , She was in comatic state. I was asked to measure her blood pressure, monitor her cardiac pulses and do regular check ups. She stayed same, until somebody came to see her. He came an year later, he was trying to show her something, he kept on saying his story, telling her, shown her some pictures. I was not allowed to see that. He got just one rose for her, and a thank you card. I had seen tears in the eyes of my patient; It rolled down and died on her cheeks. Her lips showed movements as if they expected something, or just wish to say ….. ( I can not read her).
She continued to be same, Until It was Christmas, and my daughter jolly wished to be santa claus, So I took her all dressed to see my patients, We had plans after that. She got gifts for everyone, and Tiya got a nescafe with a dairy milk. She forced her to eat and I monitored tiya’s heart beats. I never used to believe in miracle therapy for my patients, but she was a different case, I started getting coffee for her every morning, and one fine morning she sipped it; she started to recover, and her I became her close friend. I had once operated her mail account and unread mails from you all forced me to note down your contacts. She never spoke about anyone, she behaved as if she did not remember, I knew the truth.
A very fine day she demanded a cellphone and called few people, she did not spoke just listened, and then she was all ready to leave in a jetplane. I know she called you all, and she called him also, He came to see her off, and I had seen him into tears of a reason: reason of not being recognized. Her flite was indirect; the destination was not something everybody assumed it to be. She left us forever and all I had a letter “Chapter of my life, my city of love: Over.” It had two stories: story about a city, drives, pranks, friends and HIM and a story about a cup of coffee, a gift of chocolate and a palace of love.
Now I had seen her almost after a decade, and I know the game is over. She could not recall anything; she is just awake for a dream of YASHODHARA: a project about first women. She has created work for all, educations to girls and jobs for wives. Tomorrow she is handing it over to somebody else and this marks her end. I am just doing what I could; I am informing all the characters of her story as even I am not sure about the protagonist’s choice. If I will hear a reply from you I will tell where Our Tiya is, ? ? Drop me a mail if you think you are somewhere in her chapter of life.

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