Story - When time stood still

I was then a scrawny twelve-year-old, bespectacled, looking short sightedly at the world rushing past me. At the time, I never ceased to wonder at the events happening around me.

My sole aim in life was to scour the little world in my immediate vicinity, for excitement, juicy eaves droppings, taking full pleasure in executing forbidden tasks. Of marbles and football, of mischief, of pretentious game. At the fag end came my studious intentions. Just like all kids with a dozen years to their credit.

It was on a warm late afternoon, with the sun in my eyes that I was homeward bound. From a tiring day of boring Maths and General Science, from the teacher's tongue lashes and hard backslapping - All part of the usual routine. From the welcome tinkle of the school bell.

Now I was rushing home, pelting down the dusty road, only stopping to pick those wonderful gulmohars for my mother. I loved picking a whole golden bunch for her each day. Even though she received them with a resigned sigh and a quick hug. Complaining because she could not wear them in her hair!

I just glowed proudly each time she placed them carefully in the decorative brass vase. Now, brandishing my booty, I scampered off towards home, the excited shouts of the gardener behind me receding in the background.

As I entered the courtyard, childish intuition replaced the song in my heart with heavy foreboding. Silence and stillness pervaded the surroundings, oblivious of the faint rustling of the leaves on the trees. Suddenly nothing seemed to move.

In the verandah, a quiet crowd stood scattered around. My grandma came rushing forward and clutched me in a tight embrace, crying quietly. Ruffling my hair and squeezing me in her warm hold.

Over her arm, I was my mother's prone, still body on the front room 'takhat'. Her face as white as the sheet that lay covering her neck down.

Dead. No. I couldn't bear it. Not my mother. Not my mother. It was possible only in the movies. Not in real life. I wrenched myself from those arms around me, which suddenly felt heavy and claustrophobic.

The heavy downpour of tears blinded me, but I ran. Ran swiftly. I don't know where I was heading. Anywhere. Away from the gruesome picture that was now painted on the canvas of my life.

Stumbling along to my little hideaway where I often spun stories of a grand future as a pilot, a doctor, a hero doing my mom proud. Crunching the bronze leaves on the heap Deepak and I had so carefully made the day before. I crouched there and cried my heart out.

All I felt was hurt and loneliness; desolation and a sense of betrayal. My childish trust had led me to believe life would remain the same - forever sunny. Always close to her warm smiling face in all my waking hours.

Drained of all energy, I stared vacantly ahead. Only then did I realize that I still clutched those beautiful Flames of the Forest gathered especially for her. And the tears came afresh. And I buried my face deep in the dead leaves. Now, nothing mattered. Time didn't count.

It was a hit and run case like so many others and like some exceptions the driver had been apprehended for life sentence. But no punishment could bring her back to me.

It was a week since She had gone. Poor grandma. She had attempted to convince me that mother had simply gone on a visit to heaven to see God! Little did she realize mine was a silence of disbelief?

Suddenly, I had burst into adulthood. Severed all ties with childish innocence and fantasy. Come face to face with death and the emptiness of being alone. Overnight, I was a man. I had grown up. Dramatically, painfully. On even terms with reality.