A PATCH OF RED! #WRITEAPAGEADAY @BLOGCHATTER
Soorya handed over a cheque of fifty lakhs to the
organizers of the function in Rajat’s name. Memories assailed her, like
stinging hornets. She wore a beautiful sari in blue and green; Rajat’s
favourite colours. She remembered the day when he had bought it for her and
handed it over to her, exquisitely gift-wrapped, waiting impatiently for her to
tear it open.
However, she could never bring herself to tear open a gift-wrapped
package. She loved the crinkle of the paper, the delicate pulling apart of the
ribbon, and the first sight of the gift within. It was the little girl within
her who still loved receiving gifts.
When she wore the sari for the first time, his eyes had
sparkled with glee.
“So beautiful, Soorya!” He called her by her name. No
titles. He preferred to keep it simple, especially with people he loved. It was
not so with his possessions, though. He loved his shiny, red racing bike which
had cost a pretty packet. The first time he had seen it, his heart had skipped
a beat. It was love at first sight and he knew that he had to buy it. Which he
did!
“When I ride it, the wind ruffling my hair, I feel that I am on top of the
world. It is the best feeling ever!”
His excitement was contagious. She smiled back at him,
even as he continued to wax eloquent about his ‘red beauty’. He would polish it
till he could see his face on its shiny surface. Luckily, he was a careful driver
and followed all the road safety rules stringently.
Soorya was a social worker who had many charities that
she espoused. The fact that she came from a well to do family and married into
yet another one did not hurt. Her face often smiled out from magazines and
newspapers and wherever she went, she was instantly recognised.
Rajat was extremely proud of her, and he made no bones
about it. His world revolved around her, and her word was law. At one call from
her, he would drop whatever he was doing and rush to her side, maybe because he
had seen her, cast down in despondency at a time when she had lost her parents
in an accident. Being an only child, she had inherited a fortune, but it came
at a price that had broken her heart. When she suffered an even deeper loss in
life, it was Rajat who had taken care of her and brought her out of her depression.
Rajat and she lived alone in their palatial mansion with
a retinue of servants who did their every bidding. It was as if they did not
need anyone else in their life. The gossips were vociferous as they predicted a
sea change that would come in and transform their relationship.
“Back for lunch, Soorya!” Rajat had bolted down his boiled
egg and toast, gulped his scalding tea with a grimace and rushed out. He was
apparently late for an important appointment.
Lunch was served, All Rajat’s favourite dishes – rajma-chawal,
fried fish and kheer. It was a special day after all. At half past one, she
called him.
“Will be there in half an hour, Soorya! I can smell my
favourite food over the phone.” His deep chuckle had warmed her heart. She
smiled as she turned off her phone and sat back to wait.
She waited and waited. The phone rang suddenly, startling
her out of her reverie. She listened to a strange voice, trying to convey a
message, but her ears began to ring.
“I am sorry. I think you have a wrong number,” she said
calmly, trying to stem the flow at the other end,
“Isn’t this Mrs. Shah?” The voice sounded a trifle
hesitant.
“Yes, it is!“ she retorted. “But you have obviously got
the wrong Mrs. Shah!” Her voice trembled even as she tried to sound emphatic,
but there was a trace of hysteria in it.
That phone call had shattered her life in an instant.
She had rushed, panic-stricken, to the spot where he had fallen.
His red beauty lay there on the side of the road, strangely dusty and forlorn. He
had been rushed to the nearest hospital, but the collision had been mammoth.
A collision with a gargantuan lorry in a hurry that had
rammed the red bike! She stifled a gasp as her eyes fell on the patch of red that
glistened on the tarred road.
A patch of red that was all that was of the one who had
held her hand through all the tragedies in her life. Her beloved son, Rajat!
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