The Empty Chair

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The air inside the house buzzed with excitement as the family reunion drew near. Laughter echoed through the hallways, children ran up and down the stairs, and the aroma of spices and freshly cooked food wafted from the kitchen. The dining table, adorned with a crisp white cloth, was set for a celebration, plates gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier. But one chair remained empty, tucked neatly in its usual place at the head of the table. The chair that once belonged to the family’s late grandmother, Nani.

It had been nearly a year since she passed, but her absence still felt sharp, like the edges of a forgotten memory that came rushing back when least expected. Every family member who passed by the chair paused, just for a moment, as if expecting to see her sitting there, smiling her gentle smile, presiding over the chaos of the gathering like the unspoken matriarch she had always been.

For this family, the annual gathering had been a tradition that Nani had nurtured for decades. It started as a modest get-together, but over the years, it became a day that everyone looked forward to, a day marked in bold on their calendars. No one dared to miss it, for fear of facing Nani’s disappointment. And even though she was no longer here, her presence felt undeniable, like the lingering scent of jasmine from her favourite shawl, draped over the armrest of her chair.

Ravi, the eldest of Nani’s grandchildren, stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. He had been dreading this day, unsure of how the family would handle her absence, unsure of how he would handle it. Nani had always been the one who grounded him. As a child, he would sit by her side, listening to her stories about their ancestral village, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she spoke of simpler times. She had a way of making the past feel alive, as though it were just waiting for them to return.

But now, without her, the room felt different. It wasn’t just the empty chair—it was the emptiness that seemed to settle in the corners of the room, a silent witness to the spaces she had once filled.

His thoughts drifted back to the last conversation he had with her, one of those quiet moments when they had both sat together on the veranda, the cool evening breeze rustling the trees. “Ravi, beta,” she had said, “Family is like a tree. Its roots are the elders who give us strength, its branches are the younger ones who reach out to the future. But all of us, no matter how far we grow, are part of the same tree.”

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India 

21/10/24