Book Review: The Old Man And The Sea

Book:  The old man and the sea 

Author: Ernest Hemingway

Publisher: Arrow books 

Pages: 99

Rating: 4.7/5

the old man and the sea

The old man and the sea is one of the notable works of Ernest Hemingway. This book was published in 1952 after which Hemingway won the Nobel Prize in literature in 1954. Hemingway is considered as one of the best writer of all time and some of his other notable works are; A farewell to arms, for whom the bells tolls, the sun also rises.

Santiago, the old fisherman has now gone 84 days without catching a fish and now considered as  salao, which is the worst of unlucky. His apprentice Manolin was forced to leave his side by his father. Poverty stricken old man has to sell his cast net and pretended to have rice in pot in front of Manolin. On the eighty fifth day, the old man sails his stiff far away in the sea, sets his line, prepares his bait and waits for his luck to turn.  A marlin takes his bait which might earn him a fare amount of money. He holds his line and the rope cuts through his hands each time marlin pulls the skiff. In this fight the wounded old man admires the strength, calmness and confidence of his rival.

How many people will he feed, he thought. But are they worthy to eat him? No, of course not. There is no one worthy of eating him from the manner of behavior and great dignity.

This is not the story of triumph, the sweet victory. This is the story of what comes after he successfully catches the marlin, the story of what comes afterward.

“They beat me, Manolin,” he said. “They truly beat me.”

“He didn’t beat you. Not the fish.”

“No. Truly. It was afterwards.”

 

The book is a gripping read and every page of it makes itself count. It can be read in one sitting and the deeper you go the deeper you understand its meaning. Also, the old man is great admirer of DiMaggio, a baseball player. This book succeeds in luring the sympathy for both the old man and the marlin. In this story Hemingway tells about the struggle and the pain to achieve the victory and what happens afterwards if you went too far. A book that deserve the right spot in your collection.

 

Let`s  finish this with my favorite quote/ line from the book.

“But man is not made for defeat,” he said. “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.”

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The drunkard father

beer

 

Last night I met a boy of same age as mine and got to know about his troubles with his drunkard father.

He told me how his family environment is spoiled because of his father`s drinking habit. He is afraid of those footsteps approaching towards his room and the creaking sound of the door.  He added that under the spell of that devilish thing he (his father) becomes a completely different person that only means excruciating tyranny. He is petrified to talk to him and can`t remember for how long he hasn`t spoken a word to him at night. He looks for shelter somewhere in the dark corner to escape from him for one more night. He wondered what divine bliss is in that poison that every night he stumbled to same bottle at same time. Is it some kind of nectar and his family is paying the prize for his chase to earn immortality? But what`s the point to live longer by oppressing someone or tormenting someone`s limbs till the pain becomes unbearable.  He has heard about the god taking the same thing to rejoice their life but does god mean to suffocate someone in intoxication of this devilish spell?

In the midst of horrifying nights he feels inferior and wants himself to suffocate to death. He has lost all of his hope and dreams in the midst of  the fear that make him feel deserted. The victim is suffering and the pain is becoming beyond his endurance but nobody can see it, feel it, because he has even lost the voice to plead in front of the cruelty. He has become a mannequin on whom you can lay thousand sticks but he will never hear squeak, only scars and red color of the skin can be seen. As long as the nectar will pour, the more family will suffer.

A memoir of a dog

He was 2 months old when we moved him to his new house made of bricks and grass on the corner of the street beside my house along with his brother. His mother have him on the roof of our house and my ma refused to the thought of having them as a pet as we already have a pet. So both the brother one was entirely black and had white hair on bottom side of his neck and the other with brown hair and white patches all over his body lived in that small house. It was bone chilling winter that time so we placed a sack above the soil, covered it with dry grass and also attached a sack in the front of the house like a gate with the help of some bricks.

We named the black one Kallu because he was black, that’s it. In India you do that and the brown one Bondu because he never listened to us when we called him, walked leisurely and refused to bark on stranger simply he didn’t gave a fuck to us.

Kallu gained our affection instantly because he always had this everlasting excitement as he runs to us fastest, wags his tail around us and try to jump to in our arms when we sit on our doorsteps. Meanwhile Bondu loved to stay in home kind of introvert he was.

Their mother used to bring them meat and bones from somewhere and as we are Brahmins we resented but couldn’t stop her, nobody can’t stop a mother to feed her kids. The both brothers were loved by the whole neighbourhood with Kallu being close to everyone’s heart and just when the family was soothing Kallu began to become thin. We thought it was because of Bondu’s act of stealing his food so we divided their food but nothing happend his health constantly degraded.

I wonder how easy it’s for human to live in this world as they can demand for thier things, can tell thier suffering and sometimes can exaggerate them to get some attentions but dogs can’t do that niether can any other animal. He suffered silently, he never squeaked, never cried only his health degraded. I could tell by looking in those eyes that he was dying, he stopped eating, he became thin and thin, he began to walk slowly, began to stay at home for days and nights and watched the strangers passing by without barking on them. He was dying but unable to ask for help, unable to scream at his misery.

Manas, who is a friend of mine soon visited to a doctor with him and bought some medicines and injections which was necessary for to keep our hopes and our Kallu alive. We had him medicines but he vomitted them out probably by then his stomach had stopped taking anything in and the Kallu which was always eager to get out that house to run to us and wag his small tail, run back then run again towards us, jump and wag his tail again retreated to that house.

He slept with his brother as they always used to do. The next morning, we found him dead and Bondu was standing there staring at his brother’s lifeless body.

THE END

The stiff funeral

When he began to rot, when his heart resented to throb, when his body ceased to exist, when lungs refused to breath, when these viens crumbled from the pressure. In that black coffin his corpse lay lifeless, stiff as his ego still resentful with eyes wide open and memories depriving the brain.

On his funeral, many mourners were present, but there was a drought, his soul craved for that one little drop to fall on the soil to cease his forlorn fantasy but everyone relinquished.
The priest was in haste, his assistant keeps checking the phone, many had already made their plans for the night and many smirked,His soul cried, still the soil was dry as desert and there were some cracks equivalent to his heart and some small soothing weeds equivalent to his childhood. He sat there looking at the mundane faces, reviving every action of his life, “where he went wrong?” His soul thought.

There were two souls sitting on thier grave peacefully they seemed like lover, laughing, blushing, exchanging vows and sacred kisses and on right side of his grave there sat another soul watching at the mourners and then to him, then he smiled at the newcomer. The newcomer lowered his head tried to escape from his ghastly eyes and frowned at yet another smile. he couldn’t bear this misery, this despising deprivation of the mourners, the intangible hatred on his death. “The lion is dead, sheep are happy,” He thought. But that contriving comfort didn’t last longer just like contrived love he once tried to do.

He watched the soul of that man, sitting right to his grave was approaching him, he perplexed and throws a reluctant view but that man still approached, the morning light went through the clouds and throw the man to fall on his smooth forehead, he turned around and there were seven colors trying to bring a colorful end to his mundane life. There was some tranquility in the air and something soothing in that graveyard. He felt the presence of hand on his right shoulder which once endured the burden of the crippled heart at the age of 16 when his mother and father was found dead in the car accident. Every grave had a pond near it made of the invisible tear which once shed by their loved ones on thier funeral and here was his ponds completely empty like a night in the desolate desert.

“So many mourners -” the man said.

“But no one to weep, just like so many people but nothing to eat,” he completed, retreating to his previous positions.

“How did that happen?”

“Speed.”

“Accident?”

“Speed of life that require to chase things but it seemed like I’ve chased those things that didn’t even existed.”

There was a long silence…….

“But I am not even regretful. That guys that you see in black suit in with thin face and with the beard is happy because he will get my job, that man in grey hair is happy because he will get a new puppet to control and probably an aloof one. They are happy you can see.” He said with more tears rolling down from his eyes.

“But I am happy too because they were the one that told me to run and I outrun them after that every single time and I enjoyed thier envy, their defeated faces and the red wine in the expensive hotels of Italy.”

“Isn’t there anyone here from your family.”

“Yes there is, that man with grey hair in his 70s. He will die soon, I believe. He looks pale. He once tried to rape me when I was 18 since then I hate the sight of him such a scornful face he has. I won’t spit on him.”

Another long silence.

“Why are you crying? is there some unfulfilled wish?”

You see that black car down yonder with window half open there she is sitting. We were in love 5 years ago but then like always I ran, I ran to chase something that never existed, leaving something that was entirely mine. You see the tears rolling down there that’s the only regret I have,” He said and cried again, the man gave him his handkerchief.

Wiping his red eyes and shook cheeks which got that shape by the severe toil that he had done over his life he said;
“Those are the tears that I am trying to bring in this pool but the soil is still dry, the heart is still wretched, the pool is still empty.”

THE END.

DEPRESSION

I was listening to the latest song of the band ‘badflower’ called ‘ghost’. It is a song about a boy suffering from anxiety, depression and wants to commit suicide.

This isn’t the song review but I strongly feel the song that inspired me to write should be shared and as the song lyrics read:

I tried it once before but I didn’t get too far

I felt a lot of pain but it didn’t stop my heart

And all I really wanted was someone to give a little fuck

But I waited there forever and nobody even looked up

I hooked with the song since the first word and mainly because most of us have gone through the same feelings time to time. Millions of people suffer from depression at one point of their life.There are many who have gone through anxiety, depression but never admitted, because they are afraid, they are afraid of their insecurity, their vulnerability, they feel an insensible sophistication in their brain but wouldn’t let a word slip from their mouth because they are scared to be mocked of, to be never understood, and to declared weak for suffering from such pity problem where the people are dying with hunger, war, sickness.

The society in which we live in doesn’t take depression as a problem at all and why should they? they have never gone through it and if they have then they have to boast about themselves rather than helping others.

Depression is as dangerous as cancer both kills, but depression let you kill yourself, it drains your energy, mental health. You feel thousands of thoughts crossing your mind, creating a web in which you are trapped, tying to scream but can’t because you are afraid, you don’t want other to see your miseries and yet you see that giant spider approaching toward you, you try to fight but how? You don’t know and there’s no one to help. You feel like a victim of your crime. You always feel inferior always in the burden of hopeless expectations, always missing out on something, throwing your arms and legs in vain then the darkness comes floating then you run, run and run but there’s no hope, so you choose the easiest way to escape which is suicide.

Some people think depression surrounds only those who have tend to take small problems very highly but that’s not the truth over the years we have seen many famous celebrities committing suicides like- Kurt Cobain, Chester Bennington, heath ledger, Robin Williams etc. They have all suffered from this crippling depression.

Depression is a big problem and it can’t be easily cured. It eat a person from inside and make him feel hollow, you try to take breath but there’s not enough air, you feel something heavy on your neck, something heavy, something stuck, something choking you, something which have no face.

But many people have endured it and made it out alive in a very pleasing way, one of the most famous figure is Dwayne Johnson ( the rock)

If you know any one suffering from depression try to help them instead of mocking and try to understand them remember just give them a little fuck and you can save someone’s life.

As I end this article I want to share a quote that is the part of that magnificent song video:

Suicide doesn’t end the chance of getting worse. It eliminates the possibility of it ever getting any better.

Here’s the link of the video https://youtu.be/wRFLvrBHI0E

WAR & EGO

 

war

EGO, small word yet hold the power to be destructive just like WAR; these two words shatters my soul to pieces then leaves it for the crows, vultures for their lunch. In the world we live in is highly influenced by these words. Almost every day we listen to war threats given by North Korea to America and Pakistan to India or vice versa.  Now before most of the patriotic Indians start to take offence about my prospective, I want to clear that I don`t know the truth about wars, who started it? Why it was necessary or who to blame for it? All I know is the consequence that is very simple DEATHS of the innocents and souvenir for being a martyr. I don’t know a lot about war and I`ve never been to a war, leave that actually I never interacted with a soldier but I know what it brings, It brings, hunger, oppression, death, slavery, widows, orphans, blood, bullets reaching to the depths of the earth and hatred between the species that are capable of showing the divine form of love.

As a kid I was thought to respect your soldier there are fighting on the boarder so that we can celebrate our festivals, they always told us that Russia or America or china is the strongest country in the world based on the amount of their ammunition they hold, the nuclear power they have and the soldiers that are ready to be martyr just in one order from the authority. But they never told me WHY? Why there are soldiers on the border in the first place? Why the politicians are ready to trade their lives for a few Km of land? Why there is a history of wars, hate, and slavery? Why the strongest country can`t be judged by the love they share, by the kindness they spread, by the work they do to save earth and other animals, by the morals that citizens of that country hold? Nah! But bombs are fun, right? For survival you have to fight, right? But not against each other, there already a large amounts of problems which can demolish our whole civilization then why we are casting a problem of our own. In Syria, instead of supplying help other countries have found their own agenda to fire bullets. What? Is it some kind of battlefield? For Christ sake human lives there and they are killed in abundance. My questions may have sound foolish like a kid but that all we need. A kid has the most investigative mind and the pure heart, so investigative that they even try to know the reason why the light of fridge goes off when we close the door and so pure that they cry for some injustice happened before them. But no, here comes the other small word EGO.

Ego is the word that will never let us be kid, how can I ask such foolish question? Where is my pride and honor? Why should I endure the troubles for the whole humanity? In the slightest of I there is ego. I don’t understand the trend of fake person by the new generation even though I belong to them; I believe a person can never be able to hide his true self. It can happen that a person treat one person in other way and other in other way but that doesn`t mean he is being fake to you or to him, its human behavior, some people tend to speak lies because it`s their of keeping privacy or the don’t think you are earnest enough to hold their secrets and if a person being fake then his demeanor can tell everything about him. I believe psychologist believe so and so but that none of my concern. I am concerned about the slight difference between ego and self respect. Self respect is about seeing your worth, tour capabilities, realizing your power and boundaries and your respect in your eyes, basically it only involves I but ego also involves I in another way, let me elaborate: Why I should do this if he is not doing this? How can he talk to me like that? I worth more than him. What is he in front of me? Why I care about the world if nobody cares about me?   May be these examples are okay to be understand that ego involves I but in comparison to other which doesn`t shoot your self-respect but suck it out like a leech without the realization of yours.

Both words are small but destructive just like humans small and destructive.

 

Phone call

tring tring tr…………….

“Hello.”

“How can y… you do this to me?” it was a girl voice, soft like an angel but trembling on every word.

“At least, leave them to me.”

“Wait, what?”

There was a long silence. The sobbing stops. I was half conscious; probably the last night vodka was still banging in my head.

“Isn’t you Farhan?” She asked.

“No, who the hell is Farhan?”

“Sorry.”

It was 7 in the morning. I can`t remember the last time I wake up this early. Damn! That phone call ruined my sleep. The girl looks troubled but it was none of my concern, I had to go to the studio and before that I need to get vodka out of my head.

On my way to studio, I think about the conversation again. that voice was sweet, timid but the trembling in her voice indicated toward her morose like a tragedy befallen on her, unable to handle my thoughts I called her:

“I already apologized.”

“No, that`s not why I called. You sound morose. Can I help you?”

“No, you can`t and don’t try to hit on me”.

“No, this is not what I meant.”

“This is what you meant; ask yourself would you call a man like this?”

So I sis what she said and the answer was no. I decided to remain silent.

“Asshole.”  She hung up

I was trying to sleep but that voice didn’t let me. She had an angelic voice mix with sorrow and tragedy. But why was thinking about a girl who brutally dishonored me? Yes, she was in trouble I suppose but that doesn’t give any right to her to talk so disdainfully to me. I regretted the moment when I called her. These thoughts filled me with anger and my heart feels the urge to slap her. I said to myself to not to do anything like this ever again even if a person on the other side of phone is dying.

Beep, beep

It was a message

“I think I was being a bit rude on you.”

The anger fades away, I calmed myself, read the text, Oh! god I wished the text can speak in her voice.

“Yes you were a bit, but I don’t mind.”

“Anyway I apologies”

“Apology accepted. By the way what was the matter?”

“Since you are a stranger and cannot do any harm to me and can`t judge me or if you judge me I don’t care. I feel a bit comfortable to give my heart a little comfort.”

“Yeah, sure but can I call you.”

“Yes.”

So I called her, excited to hear that voice again but what could be the matter, or how I gonna react to it? What if she asked me for an advice? These thoughts filled my brain with anxiety, the very usual symptom of over thinking which happen to me a lot.

“Let`s get to the point.”

“I and he, Farhan was married for past 10 years we have two kids both are boys. We had love marriage and everything was going swiftly. We do dinner together, go to shopping together make love thrice a week. But one day, as there is some days of sunshine and someday of darkness. The darkness fell on me, I failed in one test and he left with our children. Few days before, he married to another woman and now I am dying alone every day.”

I heard everything and had no idea on how to react. I remain silent for few second, She accompanied me and after a while I finally dared to speak.

“Why he left.”

“You will find out in future, I believe,”

So this wasn’t the last time we will be talking at least that’s a good sign, I assumed.

“So, did your husband cheated on you.”

“He did actually, when I needed him the most.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, alright?”

“I won`t unless something else hurt me. I feel much lighter now, thanks for listening me, gotta go, bye.”

“At least tell your name.”

“Nooriya Has…..Ansari , Nooriya Ansari.”

I searched her on Facebook found no one, there were a lot Noor but no one named Nooriya.  I tried on Instagram there were few but no one with last name Ansari or Hashmi. I left disappointed and went to sleep.

Few days passed. She didn’t call me and I didn’t have the courage to text her. I missed her voice and wondered how beautiful her face will be. I wrote few songs about her. The fact that she was the mother of two kids and belongs to other religion bothered me. But I wanted to talk to her; my voice was dying to hear her voice.

I called her:

“Hey, I am a bit stressed.”

“Ok. Then light you heart,”

“I don’t know why I am in on and off relationship with girls and forever on relationship with alcohol.”

“Who are you?”

“The one whom you told your problem, remember?”

“No, not that stupid I mean what your profession is?”

“I am the lead singer of band named cabron.”

“Cabron?”

“Dumbass, it means in Spanish.”

She laughed. “So basically you are a musician who is quite popular even though I don’t know about you but I assume. There is nothing unusual in going on and off in relationship for a person like you, they want money you want sex, everything is going fine.”

“No, nothing is fine I need someone to stand by me, I want to be loved, I want to feel, touch, sense the pure love that comes with the package of lifetime not just one night.”

“The life you live is very fast, love is not like that it needs time, it likes to slow things down and make you feel every moment. It needed to be caressed, needed to flow freely.  If you try to control it based on your circumstances, your needs and your time then it starts to degrade, the other person began to feel minor, now he is not free, he is suppressed and may be if you get close to each other but the distance between you and other person will always increase.”

She continued. “I am not saying you won`t be able to find someone you can really love or maybe you have already found that person but aren`t aware, so make sure you find her before anyone else find her. Because it`s not true that a specific person is made for a specific person the only thing that matters is who touch your soul first.

“What`s about my alcohol problem?”

“Let me tell you a story.” she paused for a while

“My friend, Zoya married to a truck driver. He was an excessive drinker. Though she was lucky that most of the time her husband remains on the long journey of some distant places of India, transporting many stuff. But when he stays at home her life turns into a living hell. He tortures her like black slaves were tortured by white men.  A small mistake can lead to many scars and a loud voice can lead to extreme suffering.”

She continued. “His friend was also like him, excessive drinkers. One day when he ran out of money his friend advised him to sell his daughter. The drunkard father that was unconscious of himself, to his senses of nobility, his duty. He agreed.”

“What! How can someone do this?”

“He was not in control of himself, let me finish the story.”

“My friend, Zoya resisted with all her might. She was contended to not let her child become the victim that she was. In the end both were burnt down by the fire that shows no mercy on anyone only leaving their ashes behind.”

I was shocked. What I just heard was hard to believe. I couldn’t even dare to move my lip a bit, not even an inch of it.

“Drinking is more injurious to the health of your loved one than to your health.” She said and hung up.

 

We started texting each other, although I preferred her voice over the black letters flashing on my phone screen but it was an easy and can be used more often for communication and also I have the time to think twice to make sure I don’t say something absurd to her.

She told me many things about her, how she grew up running on the streets of Kanpur. How she misses those old games like titi, chor police, barf pani. She was worried that how today`s kids will never know the pleasure of playing the real games that actually requires blood and sweat. She miss those times when we used to meet real friends and show our love by our gestures not by the status that show less quantity of love but more hunger for likes.

She told me lots of thing about her religion good and bad. She told me how much she hated to wear burka and how much she liked the biryani. She told me that when she was young she even used to lick the whole plate of biryani and make it so clean that you even don’t need to wash it again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was sitting on a brown wooden chair, looking at Ahmad and Mansoor without blinking. They were playing cricket in the lawn. They looked happy, so happy that they probably didn’t even notice mama sadness. I know everything was tormented, my soul was sobbing quietly. But how can I show my tears to my boys. ammi was strong at least that I pretended all my life in front of my kids. Farhaan stormed towards our room furiously. He packed all my things in two large suitcases smashed them on the floor and asked me leave or should I say ordered me to leave.

“This is not what you are thinking.” I pleaded

“oh! Then how you get it bitch!” he said

“It can happen to anyone.”

“No, it can`t.” He said. “Now take your stuff and leave my house now.”

“Believe me, I didn’t cheat,” I said crumbling inside.

He was burning with anger. Ahmad and Mansoor began to cry. They ran towards me but Farhan stopped them.

“Your ammi is a sinner, don’t touch her.”  He said.

He took my luggage moved them out of the door and then pushed me too. He left me no choice all I can do was to scream. So I did, wishing it will heal my pain a little. It didn’t actually. I moved back to my ammi`s house and then I tried to call him but I failed. My life is a life of complete failure and misery.

She paused. She was probably wiping her tears; I can hear little squeaks in her voice and wondered how many times did she wish to die? So I asked

“Have you ever wished to die?”

“Everyone is dying some fast, some slow, some in gloom, some in bloom, everyday.” She said. “You don’t wish to die you chose how you want to die. So do you want to wish for death and die or do you want to wish for life and die?”

She continued. “I would say I will choose the latter one. Who wants to die in trauma?”

“So, why you keep on blaming yourself?”

“Because I can`t blame someone else or god for a deficiency of mine, except in farting by the way.”

“What!”

“Yeah, I love to fart and then blame it on others.”

“What`s your name by the way?” she asked.

“Rem.”

“Kinda weird but goes with your personality.”

 

 

Few weeks passed. We started talking more frequently. I asked her to meet me but she denied. But there was no way that I would give up that easy.  So I asked again and again and again but she denied every time.

“Why you denied all the time.”

“Because the thing you want, I can never give to you.”

“I want your heart only.”

You are younger than me and belong to a different religion. It is not possible.”

“But don’t we have the same heart?”

“I want to know your story first.”

“I had my first guitar at the age of seven, since then I fell in love with music. I and my friends made a band at age of 12 and we gave our all for this dream that we are living now. I belong to a high class religious family but I left them when they forced me to leave the band and to focus on some realistic things at the age of 20. After 1 year of struggle we got our first viral song on youtube and earned some fame and name after that I fell with drugs, alcohol and all other slow poison that can kill me. I went to rehab after 3 years of excessive consumption of drugs. After rehab I fell in with alcohol again, this time not with drugs. Now I feel empty looking for fulfillment and purpose.”

“I can`t fill you up. I am hollow.”

“You fill me a little and I fill you a little and together we will make a whole.”

“It`s too late for this.”

“At least meet me once.”

There was a long silence. My nerves went up and down with speed of light. She agreed.

 

 

I put my favorite white blazer on and matched it with black shirt, black trouser and black shoes. It was 9:30 in the morning we had to meet at 10. It would take 20 minutes to reach there, so I rushed to my car. “I should have washed it earlier. What would she think when see this messy car?”  I thought. I bought a bouquet of red and white roses, red for the love white for the peace because that’s the only thing that I have to make with myself if she rejected me.

There she was sitting in the dim light, a brown chair supporting her long and smooth back, in front a table was placed covered white fabric in which her hand were rested like a pilgrim after reaching his pilgrimage, like sun rest to admire the beauty of moon. She was a moon indeed. She had big eyes that hold a glacier and thin lips from which she pours nectar.

I reached to her

“Nooria Ansari?”

“Yes.” She looked at me and smiled.”

“Roses for rose” I said and gave her the bouquet.

“Actually, it`s roses for thorns.”

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind,” she said and looked away

“So, what would you like to have?”

“A truth.” She said and fixed her eyes on mine.

“Truth?” I said, startled at her response.

She covered my hand with her hands, looked around the room then fixed her eyes on mine. She struggled to speak and for a few seconds and kept her gaze fixed on me. I noticed her anxiety and touched her shoulder with my other hand.

“I have Aids.”

Everything went blur. My lifeless body was supported by the chair. She put her hands on his face and cried and I became numb, I lost my senses. Did she say anything to me after that? Didn’t she ask me anything when I was leaving? Did I say something when I was leaving? I don’t remember. I even struggle to remember how I came back to my house.

Next day, I woke up on the same old bed, in the same old house wearing the same clothes but everything was different. My heart was heavy so heavy that I couldn’t lift myself up from the bed. I was staring at the ceiling and it feels like an eternity but I didn’t want to move, everything related to her was coming back again and again. I thought of looking at my phone but ceased the idea because the pattern on my lockscreen was her initial.  I slept again.

A week passed. We made no contact. I couldn’t recover, everything was just passing and I was not feeling anything. I wondered who is dying faster, she or me. I can no longer pay attention to anything not on my wok, not on my life. She didn’t have a lot of time left and with all my wretchedness I called her.

“Nooria?”

“Yes.”

“It`s me Rem.”

“Hmm.” I could feel the anguish in her voice.

“I want to say two things to you.”

“Yes, please.”

My real name isn’t Rem. It`s Ram Prasad.”

She laughed.

“Second thing, will you marry me?”

“I neither have time nor the answer.”

“I guess I know the answer.”

We married in the Christian way and for next one and a half year she was completely mine. We tried our best to delay her death. She went through all the medication she probably can but it was inevitable. She left me with her soothing memories those one and a half year were the best of my life. I still remember the last word she whispered in my ear.

“Good bye.”

It was a proper goodbye. It felt like she was leaving her body and handing her soul to me. She is still with me, smiling, probably looking at me saying her early prayers, licking her fingers mixed with Biryani or whispering her last words in my ears.

“Good bye, Nooria.”