“My mother has not been keeping well, I just can’t bring myself to tell her, Mihir,” Shobhana
wept.
In the end it was Mihir who took care of everything. He picked up the card from the table and
called the police regarding the body. He made arrangements with the funeral home and got in touch with
all of Buku’s friends and the relatives in India.
The funeral home had asked for a set of clothes for Buku. When Mihir informed Shobhana of
that she just opened the wardrobe and stared at its contents for eons. So many memories lingered there,
in fact each piece of clothing was a snatch of memory that she loathed to part with. The light blue shirt
was a gift from her for his graduate school interview. She had forced the light pink one on him. He had
refused to wear it at first with the idea that it was a girly color! After the first time though he wore it
constantly, claiming that it felt really comfortable.
Shobhana had however teased him about it saying, “Is it really that comfortable or do your girl
friends say that you look good in it?”
The pistachio colored one was for his graduation and he had looked so handsome in it!
Shobhana had not been able to part with any of Buku’s clothing. Finally Mihir had to go out and buy
clothes in Buku’s size for the funeral home. Buku looked so serene and peaceful lying in the casket, like
he was sleeping and would wake up any moment.
All of Buku’s friends came to Shobhana and said, “He was a wonderful person!” Shobhana felt
like their words were coming from a distance. Everything seemed foggy, like a great blanket of fog had
descended all around her.
She just had one thought reverberating in her head, ‘Buku was gone, Buku was gone!’
After the funeral the house was devastatingly empty. Mihir and Anita went to Nashville to visit
their daughter. The others left as well to get on with their lives but Shobhana’s life had come to an
absolute standstill. If she still had her job it would probably have given her something to look forward to
but Buku was the one who had made her give it up.
He had said, “You have worked so very hard all your life, it is time for you to relax a little bit.
You can paint, write poetry and cook delicacies for me or do whatever you felt like doing but never had
time for! My salary is more than enough for both of us.”
Shobhana had toyed with the idea of retirement for a while and then given in. Now she wished
she hadn’t. She even considered going back to India to be with her family. Her mother, brother and
sister-in-law kept insisting, “Come back, come back!”
However she decided against it because she recognized the fact that living alone for so long in
the US had brought out an independent streak in her, something that would make life difficult for
everyone if she tried to live in her brother’s household. Moreover Buku’s memories were scattered all
around the house and all over the city, she could easily while away the rest of her life amidst those.
The thought struck her as she was trying to eat a spoon full of chicken soup. She hardly cooked
anything for herself these days and preferred to pick up whatever junk food she could find in the frozen
section of the supermarket. It was just a matter of filling the empty stomach for her now, something to
keep the hunger at bay. The chicken soup was a gift from her octogenarian neighbor Mary Beth, who
managed to cook even at her age! She had lost her husband a long time ago and recently her son to the
Iraq war. She now lived her life with four cats and a dog.
On hearing about Buku’s death she had commented, “You will eventually find a reason to live
for.”
She suddenly remembered something while tasting a spoonful of the soup. The state police had
mentioned that there was someone else in the car with Buku that night but Shobhana had never given it
any thought before! Oh my God! How inordinately selfish had she become! She thought of another set
of parents v???rF?&?Vv?F?R6?R?wV?6?26?Rv2?B&W&FVB?W'6V?b?6?RfwVV?&V?V?&W&V@?'V?^( ?2g&?V?G2F???r&?WBF??2W'6???F?R??R7F'F??rv?F?( ??( ?6?RF??Vv?B?6?R&?F??VB?????