2023
Noah
I miss home.
And despite the fact that I have been outside Kerala for more than a decade, the fact is the lingering memory of backwaters and palm trees still wave nostalgia in me which no cultural city of Melbourne could ever supplant.
“Shari, Amma” I said, pinning the earbud. “I am hale and hearty. I reached here in full piece. Had my first lecture today”
I hear an exhaled laced with chuckle. “Oh my dear boy, when did you grow up so much? Remember Guwahati days, when you couldn’t sleep for weeks”
My heart twinges in my chest at the recollection of my PG days with the floodgate of nostalgia seeping in fond memories in the cracks of my life. I stayed mum and kept plodding in the soft grassways of the park. The giggling voices of children and their parents made up the pleasant cacophony of its ambience.
“How is Buttercup?” I ask as I hear a bark, then followed by a mewing tone.
“He is a little sick. He has grown used your presence” Amma replies
“I miss you Amma” I say softly, taking a seat in a bench. “Next time I am home, I am gonna make sure you are here”
“Five years in Kerela and you have gotten attached to me again” She clicked her tongue.
“You are all I have, Amma” I say. “I’ll call you at night. Working on a journal right now. I love you”
“I love you Noah. Remember that your Appa will be so proud of you” She says before hanging up.
I take my Ipad out of the satchel and started scribbling random words on it. After years of spending my time in a local college it was my bigshot offer at the University of Melbourne as an Assistant professor of Social Work. It was a dream come true yet a part of me felt lost, like all my accomplishments were just a tick off in a wishlight and nothing real to hold on to.
“Excuse me Uncle” A voice cuts off the track of my thoughts. “Have you seen Mommy?”
It is a girl, barely nine or ten in age. Despite the Australian accent in her baby voice, she has a South-Asian feature with dark honey brown eyes and a shoulder length hair of chestnut shade.
I have seen this girl for the first time yet a vague sense of similarity gnaws my heart.
“Sorry but I don’t know who your Mommy is.” I replied, my voice coming out more blunt than I had expected to.
She makes a face which instills an instant empathy in me. I haven’t experienced fatherhood in my life but a nagging sense of paternal kindness grows at her dejection.
“Have you lost your path?” I asked. “I can help you out if you need”
“No” She becomes blunt now. “You look sad already”
I let out a guffaw. There is no way a child in a foreign land could see through my cracks.
“Oh honey, Adults don’t get sad. They just get tired” I said.
“Really?” She asked, widening her doe eyes. “Why does Mommy keep crying then?”
Her words left me dumbstruck yet I managed to hold my composure. I notice how she bites her nails in anxiety and how her eyes widen like they were in shock. Fuck! She even wore a multi coloured hair band paired with her floral frock.
You know Noah, nothing can ever go wrong with Florals.
The thumping of my heart defeans all the noise around me. I have landed here in Australia with no hope and anticipation that there is a possibility that this could even be true.
I pat the little girl’s head with my eyes glistening involuntarily. “What’s your name?”
“Tiara Saikia” She flicks a hair strand beneath her ear, grinning ear to ear. A lone drop of tear escapes my eyes without my control.
“Tiaa..” A voice calls her aloud. A voice I recognised all too well but I wished I didn’t.
Tia spins behind, giggling and hopping. “Mommy is here”
And there she is. The woman I never wished to meet yet craved for. The woman who dictated my dreams yet is no less than a nightmare.
She wore a yellow overcoat over a white knee length dress, her smile defying all the frigidity of the day as though she embodied all the sunshine in herself. My breath caught in my throat as I see her ambling to come to her daughter. Her long chestnut hair flowing unabashedly as her giggles sent ripples of goosebumps down my skin.I missed the sound of your laughter.
“Uncle, you are a wizard.” Tia giggles.
My little Tia is ten now.
I don’t stop for words as I fetch my satchel and get to my heels to start sprinting. There is no clue where I have been running from actually- from her or the feelings I was supposed to bury a long time ago.
My fingers fumble as I book a local taxi in the app.
The taxi arrives in a few moments, and I throw myself inside, desperate to escape—to run from the emotions I’ve been hiding for years. The driver doesn’t ask questions, and for that, I’m grateful. I sink into the backseat, staring out the window as the city blurs past me.
Shraddha Mishra, a sunshine draped in like a hurricane.
My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts while my heart sobs as an old wound has been sliced open. I realize to my utter dismay that my stature is still trembling from shock.
I can still remember the way Shraddha used to laugh, that soft giggle she reserved for moments when she was truly happy—something I rarely saw after we parted ways. She was always so full of life, a whirlwind of energy, and yet somewhere along the way, it became clear that our paths diverged in ways I couldn’t reverse.
I open my social media app, planning to scroll aimlessly, maybe find some inspiration—or just a distraction. But as soon as I swipe, Shraddha’s profile pops up. I tell myself I’ll just skim her page, maybe see what she’s been up to, who she’s become after all these years.
Shraddha Mishra Sarma
The fact and the realization stabs me anew, despite this being a known fact. I have received the invitation to my best friend’s wedding,obviously.
Her profile photo is new—a candid of her, laughing, her hair caught mid-movement. She’s in front of what looks like a little bakery, and I can almost imagine her standing there, the same confidence in her posture, that familiar spark in her eyes.
My thumb hovers over an old post, the three of them; her handsome husband holding the camera in a selfie and her pecking on the forehead of a four-five year old Tia and before I know it, I’ve tapped the heart.Liked.
Jesus!
I don’t know why the thought hits me so suddenly, but it does. I stare at the screen, a mix of confusion, pain, and something else gnawing at me. Something I can’t name.
Shraddha. It’s been years. But now, it feels like I’ve never truly left her behind.
