The wheels hit Madras harder than any other airport. Its probably the roads, or probably my mind. Happy faces, anxious minds, impatient to deplane and see their loved ones were all over. "Dei Machan did you check out the new fly over while we were landing?". "Semma hot la...and its almost midnight" all the jabber I usually enjoyed seemed to go over my head. I had spent the last twenty hours living through the flashes from my brain.
A quick flash. I could hear Charan singing while I struggled to pull the blanket all over my head in sweltering Madras heat to block it out so that I could sleep an extra few minutes before rushing to college. A pang of guilt and a small tear welled up. Another flash, of us fighting over a red frock donated by the benevolent U.S makkal. Did i let her keep it or steal it? I was 12 year old. Guilt again. And what about the time when "WE" decided that she was too young to be included in periyaval discussion? Did she finally sneak in or did we neglect her? Did I smirk at her being a temple goer? Did I tell her at any point that I actually loved the way she sang Andavan anbe and Koovi azhaithal, and that it is still ringing in my head?
And there were flashes from better times. Definitely much better. Saravana apartments terrace, humid Madras evenings, a mild breeze genrously donated by Mr.Marina, faded old nighties, one definitely extra large, and chatter all the way. Thats where all the girly talk took place. Everything under the sun that included and not included the male species of human kind were discussed. First crush, forgotten school friends, finally found love and lost relationships were scrutinized ,validated and enjoyed. Then there was the kitchen. The only kitchen that I knew of which had a fan, and the only one which could accomodate 5 women's constant chatter. Many a Stella Maris time weekend were transformed to ultimate fun with just a cup of coffee in chithi's kitchen accompanied by amazing conversations and constant laughter.
We shared stories of first days at college, stories of bunking class, forgotten homework, free-a vidu for 12th std and cliche engg makkal attitude, celebrated my U.S visa, her first job and most of all shared the bond of family and that of a great friend. But I simply did not know it.I took it for granted. I did not remember being particularly enthralled by her presence. But she had formed an integral part of me, defining the family without my knowledge. Why did I not take a moment to enjoy her as a person, or appreciate her presence? Did she know at any point how much she meant to all of us? That she was the voice of the family? Be it a temple visit or a wedding, or a fun road trip, be it a madrasa suthi paka poren or a mythrem bajatha, she captured it all. Not only with her singing but her so called "masti" air that she carried around her too.
Reality strikes now, really hard. All the unrecorded voice of hers, all the laughter, fun, the attitude taht lingered around her, the confidence she carried on her shoulders are now just a memory and quite a painful one. I hope there is a time when these memories are more refreshing than painful. I really hope. As of now, there is only a feeling of nothingness. In her own words, life is a little less sweeter than it was two months back.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xDuDUPf6G8
