Is death the end of everything, or the beginning of a new journey, one away from the path trodden by the gullible yo yo's, into spaces that show up neither under the morning sun nor the midnight stars? I don't know. In fact, when I retreat into my occasional reveries, I realize I don't know a lot of things. But it's okay, I guess. With you gone, I'm surprised something's okay.
I miss the girl who journeyed mud roads on a scooter ridden by the greatest grandfather in the entire universe.
I miss the girl who hogged innumerbale ice creams with every second buck this grandpa guy made.
I miss the girl who snapped one of her first photographs since birth, with him.
I miss the girl who wouldn't save a moment's peace for this guy until he got her the big balloon packet and bubbles she pestered him for.
It's an incredibly short time I spent with you. Sixteen years. God was clearly not in a mood to let the good times stay. It's so easy to be with someone you love, not realizing those moments will not last. That's exactly what I was, carefree and naive, completely shut from the reality that would soon dawn upon me. But that is how it works, isn't it? Time to wake up, do your thing, jest and stay jolly, blow a fuse, curse the fates, and get back home. Somehow, it seems different when someone isn't back in his place the next day. I cannot believe the tears four years after you left.
The green scooter
The goddamned accident
The sickening ICU
The twisted tubes and the swollen head. A man resting peacefully, ignorant of the anguished spectator, deep in slumber.
The darkest picture I ever set my eyes upon.
Mohan Naidu, rest in peace. I hope heaven's treating you right. I miss you, terribly so.