When Grief Blooms Into Love: A Journey of Healing Hearts

I first met Shekhar in 2006. He was brimming with energy and excitement, having just joined a public sector organization. Coming from Eastern Uttar Pradesh, he and his family valued the security of a government job far more than the allure of a lucrative private career. We struck a bond quickly, sharing a warm camaraderie. A year before, he had married Divya—a love marriage, as he confided in me during our probation training. He spoke of the hurdles he faced in marrying the woman of his choice, but then, what is a love story without its share of trials? Resistance, after all, becomes a cherished milestone when couples reminisce about their journey.

Barely six months into his banking career, Shekhar traveled home for Diwali. He could have extended his stay, but being in his probation period, he chose to return promptly. I vividly recall our last conversation—both of us stationed in different parts of Delhi for our marketing assignments. An hour later, his phone rang again. Expecting to hear his familiar voice, I casually quipped, “Haan bol, at what time are you reaching the office? We’ll have tea together.”* But it wasn’t Shekhar. A sub-inspector responded instead, “Sir jee, body ko Ambedkar Hospital le ja rahe hain.”

For a moment, I couldn’t comprehend what I had just heard. I assumed it was a misunderstanding. But then, reality struck. The last number he had dialed was mine—they were calling to inform me of his death. Shekhar was gone. At just 27. Life had been cruelly brief. Despite wearing a helmet, he had been crushed under the front wheel of a truck.

A memory resurfaced. Months earlier, Sekhar had visited my home for a horoscope consultation with my father. I recalled my father’s words with a shiver: “Shekhar, be cautious about your head. The sixth lord sits in your first house, and this period indicates the likelihood of an injury.” A warning, not a prophecy of doom. He had only hinted at an injury—never fatality. But fate had already sealed its decision.

I rushed to the hospital with a few office colleagues, completed the formalities, and then made my way to his residence. Dread weighed heavily on my heart—I was terrified of facing Divya. She was not allowed to see his body, yet her cries, raw and piercing, filled the air. I stood frozen, unable to process the enormity of the moment. It was decided that we would take Shekhar’s body to his hometown.

I sat in the hearse van with the driver, Shekhar’s lifeless body wrapped in cold refrigeration beside me. Divya followed in a car behind us. The journey took ten long hours, each moment stretching into an eternity. My mind was numb, lost in an abyss of grief, yet one song kept haunting me—Kishore Kumar’s melancholic voice whispering through the silence:

Zindagi ka safar
Hai yeh kaisa safar
Koi samjha nahi
Koi jaana nahi

A life just beginning to blossom, a love story only recently woven into marriage, dreams taking flight—everything had come to a brutal halt. Unanswered promises, shattered aspirations, and a devastating emptiness hung heavy in the air.

Zindagi ko bahut pyaar humne diya
Maut se bhi mohabbat nibhayenge hum

But 27? That was no age to embrace death.

At his funeral, I found myself staring vacantly, my eyes dry yet my heart drowning in sorrow. I could barely exchange words with his grieving family, nor did I have the courage to speak to Divya. I returned, burdened with emotions too overwhelming to articulate. It took 48 hours before I finally broke down—in my mother’s lap. She held me close, her hands gently stroking my head. There is a strange, unspoken strength in a mother’s embrace. In grief, in crisis, in the darkest of moments—nothing heals like a mother’s touch.

As life moved on, Shekhar’s friend, Dr. Praveen Srivastava, visited our office to settle his material proceeds and the ex gratia amount granted by the bank for Shekhar’s untimely passing in the line of duty. Praveen, a newly appointed doctor at a prestigious hospital in Lucknow, was deeply attached to Shekhar. Our paths intertwined as we frequently conversed about financial formalities and, more importantly, about Divya—who was withdrawn at Shekhar’s parents’ home.

One evening, we decided to take a long walk, and in the course of our conversation, I learned that Praveen, Shekhar, and Divya had once been inseparable friends during their B.Sc. days. However, after a year, Praveen cleared his MBBS entrance and left the college, while Shekhar and Divya’s bond deepened into love. I could sense how deeply Shekhar’s demise had affected him—he was not just mourning a friend but also struggling to witness Divya, once so full of life, now shattered beyond recognition.

Praveen was a man of immense fortitude. His large-heartedness and unswerving presence during times of crisis set him apart. His frequent visits to Delhi and our continued conversations brought us closer, and in time, I came to know that Divya had sunk into acute depression. She had been taken to Lucknow for treatment. It was fortuitous that Praveen was a neuropsychiatrist—the very person best suited to help her through this storm. But his approach was unique—he did not burden her with words of consolation, nor did he attempt to counsel her excessively. He simply stayed by her side, gently medicating her, allowing her to express her grief in its rawest form. He became her quiet sanctuary, her firm support.

Doctors are truly chosen souls, gifted with the power to heal more than us. Watching Praveen’s selfless devotion reminded me of Waheeda Rehman’s character, Nurse Radha, in Khamoshi—so deeply entwined with her patient’s suffering that she unknowingly became a part of it. She lost herself in healing the one she loved, much like Praveen, who could not bear to see Divya’s agony. It was as if he wished to cradle her pain in his hands, whispering through his silent presence:

Tum pukar lo,
Tumhara intezaar hai,

Dil behal to jaayega
Is khayal se,
Haal mil gaya
Tumhara apne haal se…

Praveen’s sole mission was to help Divya reclaim her life—to remind her that she still had a future, a purpose, a reason to hope again. And perhaps he was the only one who could truly understand her suffering. Haal mil gaya tumhara apne haal se… Indeed, we all need such people in our lives—those rare people who gently lift us from the depths of despair when we are too broken to rise on our own.

I still remember the way Praveen’s face animated when he spoke of Divya’s struggle. Yet, when I cautiously broached the subject of his own feelings for her, he fell silent. After a thoughtful pause, he admitted that during their college days, before emotions could take shape, Shekhar and Divya had already found solace in each other’s company. And now, as she attempted to rebuild her life, he wished to stand beside her—not out of sympathy, but out of a love that had quietly taken root over time.

I followed their journey closely and was relieved when, over the next two years, Divya, too, realized that Praveen’s love for her was not born of pity but of something far deeper—genuine respect, deep regard, and devotion that had silently endured every trial.

Today, they are a happily married couple. Divya, who initially took up teaching, later cleared the Bank Probationary Officer exam and now stands tall as a proud banker. Praveen, too, has grown—expanding his skills and establishing his own hospital while continuing his illustrious career as a renowned neuropsychiatrist. They are blessed with a daughter and a son.

Their story moves me profoundly. It fills my eyes with emotion and reaffirms my faith that destiny has its own way of testing us and shaping our pain into something meaningful.

Praveen and Shekhar were childhood friends, both students of Shekhar’s father, who was a teacher. Losing a son is an agony no parent should endure, but Shekhar’s father, despite his immense grief, was at peace in seeing his daughter-in-law settled before he left this mortal world. When Shekhar and Divya decided to marry, he was the first to bless them, his voice trembling with emotion:

“Mera saccha shishya tu hi hai, beta.”

Even today, Praveen remains more than a son-in-law—he is family. A guiding elder brother to Shekhar’s sibling, a pillar of strength to those left behind.

Praveen, too, had his share of loss—he lost both his parents. Yet, he believes that whatever goodness resides within him is a reflection of their values—their teachings of kindness, integrity, and selflessness.

When I think of Praveen and Divya, I am reminded of a timeless melody:

Tere mere sapne, ab ek rang hai
Jahan bhi le jaayein raahein, hum sang hai…

Mere tere dil ka tay tha ek din milna
Jaise bahaar aane par tay hai phool ka khilna…
O mere jeevan saathi…

Their journey has been extraordinary. From shared sorrows to newfound love, from despair to hope, they have come a long way. They were always meant to be together. Praveen made a silent promise to Divya—to absorb her sorrows and replace them with happiness.

I pray that they continue to walk this path side by side, embracing the joys of parenthood, cherishing the love they fought to preserve, and may nothing ever part them again…

Laakh mana le duniya, saath na ye chhootega…

More Must Read in LnC Stories

The Letters from Girish

Entaglements

The Caged Liberator

The Scar

About the Author

Gaurav Sahay ( 3 Posts)

Gaurav Sahay is a Delhite largely though with substantial exposure to urban and quasi rural Rajasthan and Uttar Pradesh. He has a Masters in Business Administration and a law degree from Delhi University. He is a banker by profession but has interests on a range of subjects, including astrology, homeopathy and sports. He is passionate about films, in particular Hindi. His understanding however is not populist but critical and at times transcending. He writes in English and Hindi with equal command. His essay on Guide is ample evidence of the writer and critic within him.
All Posts of Gaurav Sahay