Dear Narayan

“There is a reason to everything.” 

 “There is a reason to why we live, a reason to why we cry, a reason to why we leave, a reason to why we die.”

Do you remember? Do you remember those words you spoke to me as you laid on your deathbed? Those verses you uttered as I clenched your trembling hand? Do you remember those final words of yours that inflamed the violent sobs to rack through my body?

The memory still haunts me. That moment in time has crept its way into my dreams and now I’m suffocating. Suffocating, as the thorny vines of remembrance snake around my neck and tighten their grip with each passing day. The solitude formed from the dark emptiness within me is comforting at times, but the desolation soon turns asphyxiating. I’ve become a prisoner. A prisoner in the jail guised as the memory of you. The path you’ve walked along has disappeared.  Like you’ve never even existed. But I remember.

 The day I met you was the day I resolved to write Malayalam. It was during the monsoon, when the audacious rains, oscillating winds, and the terrains of Kerala turned green and gold all over. At the time you were a stranger to me, but also a familiar presence. In a tiny corner of the courtyard, a broken stick remained clenched in my three year old fingers. The stick was pushing out my tenuously shaped Malayalam alphabet but was suddenly thrown to the ground in frustration. I had been trying to practice my swarangals and venjanangals (the consonants and vowels of the Malayalam alphabet), but all that remained were the unfruitful remnants. Your shadow soon towered over my broken Malayalam, as if you were God himself. Time stood perfectly still as you grasped the twig of failure and started to inscribe the symbols silently. As you finished your engraving, all I saw etched in those storm grey eyes of yours was friendliness. From that point onwards, the idle seeds of curiosity deep within flourished. 

 Fixing my broken letters was the first of many memories you requited to me. Do you remember the boats we crafted together as you fixed my mistakes without condemnation? I remember the hours we spent, our heads together folding and unfolding the palm leaves, ensuring they stay afloat in their long journey.

 “They’re wishes,” you murmured.

“Each and every single one of them; all wishes.”

Small pinpricks of light had dotted the night sky as glittering fireflies lit the path towards the river. I trepidatiously held my breath in anticipation as I cast my wish out to water. I remember grinning with hope as the moon illuminated the dark waters, and the soft whisper of the night breeze harmonizing with the chirps of the crickets. And in that moment, I was free. So free, that not even the gods from above could stop me. The water was tranquil, my wish was still afloat and I was oh, so free.

 I reminisce the countless days we would spend laying in the hammock, gazing at the shooting stars. There was an aura of peace back then that engulfed us in our corner of solace. The evening was fresh with after effects of rain and a lingering fragrance of golden trumpets. The hammock would gently swing in chorus to each flurry of a shooting star. I would lean over the edge with my hair softly brushing against the flowers, and feel the grass tickling my fingers. I remember breathing in deep with the senses of the night feeling tangible; it’s as if they truly haven’t dissipated into memories.

Remember that day? The one in August. When we were both unconfined birds with hopeful dreams and vibrant wishes. When we sat on the patio cradling cups of masala chai that would sear our tongues and rage down our throats. The sky brimmed with stormy clouds and the grass was dewy and feathered. That’s when I realized, this was the true happiness. A happiness so innocent and unconditional, waves of sadness now ripple throughout me to think of that vanished contentment.

 I am crying right now.  Crying, sobbing, bawling. Crying for all the precious memories I have, crying for all the living souls you’ve left behind, but most of all crying for you. Your soul was made of an entirely different material; a substance so pure and dominating that it made up your very being, your very existence. And soon enough, that substance bestowed itself upon me, your granddaughter, in those small moments in time.

 These brief flashes of the past have engraved themselves into my memory. They refuse to detach, but I’m thankful. Through these, a piece of you remains. I am still a prisoner to the memory of you, but the vines of remembrance are now longer suffocating me. I am finally seeing the light of day after being confined for so long. It feels….. wonderful. So wonderful, that it only brings more tears. I am unbound, radiant, ecstatic.  

No matter what, a small portion of me will always remain in that holding cell, never to be released; but as of now I am free.

With love, 

Manu