Here is part VI as well.. posting more parts in order for you have a continuity in reads... Pretty long posts.. but I felt the diary portions need to published together..
Grace was 7 years younger to me. I still remember the day she was born. She was so pretty. Just like my mother. I had never seen papa so happy when he held her. Growing up with her was an experience. She was a like a bag of surprises, always surprising us with something new. She used to paint beautifully. Like the brushes in her hand understood what she had in her mind. She had a soft and beautiful voice, but never used to sing. She used to hum some tune while was painting. Never loud. Softly. Only to herself.
There were wonderful moments in our life that now when I think wish had remained. Growing up was sad because I knew life never would remain the same. We all went ahead with our lives. Married and settled, we believed we found what we were looking forward from life. Ironically, we settled for otherwise. I ended up with a bad marriage and she who always wanted to live free and travel ended up being a house wife.
We used to meet up sometime even though her in laws thought I was a bad influence and was filling her mind against them. They never knew that we never used to talk about them. Or anybody for that matter of fact. We used to meet up to live our childhood back. She used to stay till late on some days when she felt I was not myself, making sure I am fine. We both had given up on life and believed it from the very core of our heart that there was nothing that would change this. Life had given up on us and so did we.
But then something did happen. She gave birth to a baby boy. And then somewhere I felt she believed that she could start all over again. Watching her as a mother was over whelming. She had so many things planned for both of you. Years went on and I watched you grow older and her younger. You were a sweet boy indeed who like his mother had dreamy eyes. It wasn't a surprise for me. You were her son. Am not sure how much you remember those days with her but let me tell how I saw it. Like a bird teaches her young ones to fly, she had made sure that you believe that life was a dream. A dream where anything could happen. You could fly if you wanted to, paint in air without colors yet make a masterpiece.
Anything was possible. If you believed in it. And you did.
You were everything she had imagined.
I, who had totally immersed myself in my career as a teacher, had found a new interest. To listen to you. You used to tell me lots of stories. Do you remember that??
I did remember vaguely spending time with aunt Judith. The long walks in the park adjacent to her house. Now the old house. She used to pick me sometimes from school. She used to tell me stories about various historic events. From Indian freedom struggle to how her father met her mother. He used to ask about my school and my friends and in return I would get freshly baked biscuits from her.
I continued to read.
Though your father’s family never approved of you spending time with me, Grace had made sure that we did. You would come by after school some times and tell me stories. Sometime what happened with you at school. Sometime some made up stories about how an eagle spoke to you during your games periods. You said those with such sincerity that I would almost believe you at times. You were a story teller. I had a feeling that you would someday end up being a writer. Grace had asked you to write all these stories down and read it to her at the end of the day before she puts you to bed. And you, then 7 years old, did write so many.
She would bring those by to my place and we would have a fun time reading it. She always made it a point to correct your mistakes but never to curb your imagination. I had seen Grace since her birth perform so many roles. A daughter, sister, a good friend but the role of a mother, I still feel that nobody could do such a fine job.
I saw a picture of me, maa and Aunt Judith. A picture I hardly remember. I sat on the middle of the Polaroid with maa and Aunt Judith of my both side. Both of them looked so similar. I was sitting in the middle. A chubby little boy wearing a white shirt and grey shorts. I couldn’t recollect much of what aunt had written here. Sometimes me and maa would go for a walk to her place. She and maa would sit and talk what I had no idea about but usually a lot of laughs were to follow.
but it all changed... and it was all so sudden.. or maybe when I think about it, I wonder was it happening all through this time.. till this very date, I wonder.