Like Boisali’s tapestry, families are woven together. In the midst of their shared celebration and lonely wait, Diwali comes and leaves quietly.
A short story which can be wrapped, folded and even kept in a box.
Box is the size of our den.
Two live there and their one and only leaves one day.
Days are then numbered only to be counted… 1, 2, 5, 9 to become two digits and then maybe three.
“Three is not a crowd!” She turns away from the window to say it to Him.
“Maybe!” He answers, softly rocking while sitting on the ‘Lazy Boy.’
“Come out, lazy boy!!! It’s time!!” He remembered shouting to the tiny head while pressing his feet on the brake.
Time has no brakes either.
“Either you wait or you have someone who knows you are waiting, the pain is the same for both.” He said that more to himself than to her.
More is so relative!
“Nobody visits nowadays, not even distant relatives.” She isn’t complaining.
He knows that she isn’t. They are related, two of them for quite some time, to know this much.
“Do you know whether they celebrate Diwali in Texas?” She turned again, partly from the window towards Him.
“Mom! The sky is sooo clear here! Somedays Nafisa and I lie flat on the lawn in front of our rented apartment. Don’t worry! We wear masks! It is so hot here. But the sky, mom is crystal clear at night. We saw a polar star one day, the other day Jupiter. The sky, mom, is pitch blue and the stars look like heavenly bodies. Twinkling shining shimmering. It is Diwali here every night. Every night mom. Did you ask dad to put lights on the balcony?”
Image courtesy: Tapestry by renowned artist, Boisali Biswas
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