I went up to her and stayed near her for sometime. She didn’t seem
to know where she was; her form had distorted. She had become someone
else, I thought. I looked into her eyes from time to time. She gave no
sign of any recognition. There was an air of arrogance and violence
about her. She would talk to anyone. Physically, she had lost close to
half her weight. The color of skin had turned to the color of certain
decaying substance. She at once looked horrible, frightening and, at
closer inspection, dying. She invited no pity though. I was surprised at
the sight. I did not know how I could help her but to try and get her
memory back; to talk to her into normality. But it was an impossibility.
She had completely become someone else. She was examined for long
periods of time; all sorts of medication was inserted into her. She just
refused to react to any of it. She kept decaying.
“She has caught it from some place real wicked”,her father said, thoughtfully.
“I haven’t seen anything like this before.”
“I don’t know how much time is left”.
“This
would end. I think she’ll survive it. She would come out of it," I
said, without any conviction. I had no hope of she coming out of
anywhere. She, the woman I admired so much, was dying. She wasn’t dying
as herself, which was really upsetting. I hadn't seen something like
this ever before. I had heard of it. I did not know the details. I could
not connect with the circumstance. It was upsetting, to be an
inconsequential spectator, and having to play out a bitter part. Aware
of the pain around me, I tried to offer some respite by doing certain
physical tasks. She was constantly surrounded by people, some just
performing the social ritual. Some didn't want to be there. Looking at
them, it seemed we were waiting for her to die, and relieve us of the
trouble.
She would randomly talk.
The illness had been for a few weeks, which had sucked her energies; so
physically she had got a little quieter. The violence in her had
subsided, replaced by paranoia. She would stare at a single object for
hours; and of course, she refused to eat. When I saw her, she felt
someone else. I knew she existed in memory alone.
The
news of her passing away came when I was reading something one day. It
evoked no reaction in me. If anything, it could have been relieving. I
thought of her. How animatedly and fearlessly she would climb the stage
for attention and start speaking into the mike. Her charm, her wit, her
intelligence were now gone with her. They were all gone before she had died. Sadness
engulfed me a few days later, and I stayed alone for a long time that
day. Life, it is, then.
0 Comments:
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)