Part V.. the fifth installment of the Fireflies.. People who have just joined, I suggest you read in order else, this wont make sense.. and all those who have been reading patiently so far.. Here is what Aunt Judith had written in her diary..!!! ( This part was the toughest.. so.. in case of any feedbacks.. please feel free )
I never had the habit of writing a diary. Basically because I felt it too meticulous task to write everything that happened that particular day. There always have been good days just like there have been the bad ones. I never could find a reason good enough on why I should try and write about it in a diary. After all it’s a day I would love to forget.
But the good ones. Well, there always have been some really good days in my life. So good that I prefer to carry them in my heart. I wouldn’t mind writing about them, provided I find the right words, but since I was never a literary person, finding the right words was a huge task. But there were a few days; I would love to write about. Not all of them were good. Most of them were sad but I never could forget them. Just because I dint want to. And I am writing this so that someday, even after am gone, those days wouldn’t just go away with me.
For they were special. They were the best time I ever had in my life. The days I spent with my sister Grace. So I wouldn’t call this my diary. Instead I would say that this is a memoir. Of my little Grace.
The name left a shudder within me. Aunt Judith had written this about maa??? This was so unreal for me. The last time I had spoken to her, we did speak about maa too. She never said a word then. Did she write it for me? I had a vague memory of maa now. She died when I was 12. She died of heart attack. 3 years after I was put into boarding.
I closed the diary. I dint wanted to read it any further.
I closed my eyes and I recollected maa. She was very beautiful and with an amazing sense of humor. Being with her meant like being on fun filled roller coaster ride. I loved my mother. Very much. She was the most amazing person I had ever known then. Wonderful cook too. Watching her cook seemed like watching an artist paint.
But it all had changed. Slowly for anybody to actually notice. But it all had changed. She wasn’t the same person when I was put into boarding. She wasn’t the same person whom I had last seen post my parents’ divorce. She had come to meet me to tell me that I wouldn’t be seeing her anymore. All I had heard was some stories about what had happened following my admission into the boarding school. None of them were pleasant. Not at all. Dad’s sister who had come for his wedding was telling me how lucky I was not to see my mother that way.
Once upon a time, even I had a normal family. A happy family like the ones we see in movies or advertisements. There was so much of warmth between us. Dad, maa and me. Life was indeed nice. Dad owned a small business of spices export. Maa was a home maker. She was one of those ladies who would make stuffs to decorate her home. The house walls were filled with her paintings and art works. She loved to knit. From sweater to multi colored table cloths. She was always busy. But nothing could ever match her love to read. She had a huge collection of books. Plays, poetry, fiction and anything that she could find. She never discriminated her reading choices. It seemed as if life was a gift to her that she celebrated each day. She made sure to tell me a lot of stories. But would never tell me how it ended. When asked she would always ask me to read the book. That’s how I got into reading.
I opened the diary and continued to read.
I remember you once saying that you don’t know who you are my child. Because you could never know who your parents were. I sensed that you blamed them for everything that happened in your life and I couldn’t find a reason good enough to make you believe otherwise. It was inevitable what happened with you. With us, but then nobody knew it was coming. I tried hard to think of something to make you feel better but this is all I could come up with. The way I knew Grace, am not sure anybody else knew and so, here I am, writing about her. For you.