This is life. We often wish we could take it all back- that thing we did, that thing we said. But there’s no ‘Undo button’ in life. And that’s just how it is.
You came into my life like a hurricane. Intense, and all at once. There was no ignoring you, no escaping you. The day began and ended with you. I remember the little thing you did with your eyes.- the one where you squinted your eyes a little, with a wry smile. I knew you tried not to give much away but hopelessly lay all of yourself bare every time. Every single time. We spent days and nights under the sun and stars, in the rain and snow, in happiness and gloom. Those were the best days of my life. Better was to come. We would be getting married the next month.
Blue was my favourite colour, red yours. We argued on the colour of the saree you would wear for our reception dinner. It’s not something I would argue upon, but maybe I wanted to pick up the last fight before the wedding. One last time. Before, you know, we’d be programmed to fight for the rest of our lives. I picked up the fight to tease you. You always got irritated when I teased you, and I, perhaps got a sinister pleasure from it. Angry and disappointed, that we couldn’t agree on the colour of a saree, you left for home in your car, I, in mine.
I wish life had an Undo button. For that was the last time I spoke to you. The real you that is. The accident left you with a lost memory. The doctors said that you would come back. You never did. I was to you, nothing more than a stranger. I waited. Even tried to win you all over again. But as you know, you cannot wish for a hurricane to come by again, all at once.
A year went by, you resumed your life, I, mine. I was an acquaintance now. A couple of years later I attended your wedding. Uncle and Aunt always asked me occasionally how I was and I too visited them and hence, the invitation. I found someone a year later, marrying her and having a happy life together. We went apart eventually, as everyone does when there’s no shred of hope. I had a happy life. Thirty years of marriage went by in an instant.
I’ll be 59 next month. Shalini is no more. Cancer. It’s ironical that in spite of me being a doctor, I couldn’t do anything for her. I noticed you came into the hospital a couple of days ago. Alzheimer’s, my fellow doctors said when I asked them. They said you have lucid spells, but mostly you forget the world you are in as if there was another in your past life. If losing your memory once wasn’t enough.
A damn saree, I say to myself always. But that’s just how it is. There is no Undo button. There is no taking back the things. So I’m writing this letter to you, as you sleep in your bed, expecting that the first thing you find tomorrow is this piece of paper. And I’m hoping, that I’m a part of your delusional past life which you visit nowadays so often, just to remind you that I still do love you so much.
I am sorry. There’s not a day I don’t feel responsible for the harm I caused you. If I had just said RED. But I said BLUE. And there’s no going back. We’re trapped in a future we didn’t want to choose.
So remember me today when you’re awake. Remember me for the times we’ve had. For the time we’ve lost. And stay with me now, because, in another life, you couldn’t.