LEASHIP SERIES

SLIDE -17

I like Mathematics-“Rhythms of Numbers”

The Empty Chair (Part – II)

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Contd From Part I

He hadn’t realised at the time that it would be their last talk. Now, standing here in her absence, her words felt heavier, their meaning more profound. He walked over to the chair, resting his hand lightly on its back, the wood smooth and cool under his palm. For a moment, he let himself imagine she was still there, her soft voice calling him “beta,” her eyes full of understanding that needed no words. But reality tugged him back. She was gone, and the chair was only a reminder of what was missing.

At the other end of the room, Meena, Nani’s youngest daughter, was busy in the kitchen, her hands moving with practised ease as she prepared the dishes her mother had once made with love. Every ingredient, every spice she added brought with it a memory—Nani’s hands guiding hers as a young girl, teaching her the secret to the perfect biryani, the way to fold the dough for samosas just right. She had always been Nani’s shadow in the kitchen, learning not just recipes but the unspoken language of family that food could convey.

As Meena stirred the pot of curry, her thoughts drifted back to the last meal she had cooked with her mother. It had been a quiet afternoon, just the two of them in the kitchen, the soft clinking of utensils the only sound. Nani had been frail then, her movements slow, but her mind sharp as ever. She had insisted on supervising, even though her hands could no longer chop or stir with the same energy.

“Food is love, beta,” Nani had said, her voice soft but sure. “When you cook for your family, you are giving them a piece of your heart.”

Meena wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, brushing away the tears before anyone could see. She didn’t want to cry today. Today was about remembering, celebrating, and honouring the legacy her mother had left behind.

As she finished preparing the dishes, Meena caught her reflection in the kitchen window and saw her mother’s features on her own. She remembered how Nani used to stand there, watching the world outside, her thoughts distant but always returning to her family. The reflection, now hers, made her pause for a moment—was she living up to the love, patience, and wisdom Nani had shown?

The sound of laughter pulled her back to the present as the family gathered around the table. One by one, they took their seats, a mix of old and new generations, each with their own stories, memories, and hopes. Yet, despite the bustle of conversation, there was an unspoken acknowledgement of the empty chair, standing quietly at the head of the table. It wasn’t just a chair anymore; it had become a symbol, a reminder of the glue that held them together, even in her absence.

For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence, as if no one knew how to begin without Nani’s familiar presence to guide them. Then, softly, it was little Rhea, the youngest of the grandchildren, who broke the silence.

“Why is Nani’s chair empty?” she asked, her wide eyes looking up at her mother, Priya.

Priya smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Rhea’s face. “Nani isn’t with us anymore, beta, but we keep her chair here because she’s still with us in our hearts.”

Rhea frowned, her small brow furrowed in confusion. “But I miss her. Can’t she come back, just for tonight?”( TO BE CONTINUED)

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

23/10/2024

Another Stimulus :Thank you Alfaaz Publication .It really means a lot to me.

The Empty Chair

Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5

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

LEADERSHIP SERIES

SLIDE -16

In Her Mother’s Shoes(Part – II)

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As she fumbled with the fabric, Suman’s mind wandered back to the day everything had changed. It had been sudden—her mother’s illness had crept in like a thief in the night, stealing her vitality before anyone could fully comprehend what was happening. A month of hospital visits, treatments, and the inevitable conversation with the doctors had left the family reeling. Suman had been in the middle of her final year of university, hundreds of miles away, when her father called to tell her that her mother was gone.

Guilt had weighed heavily on her since that day—guilt for not being there, for not appreciating her mother enough, for not knowing how to help her father and brother through their grief. She had thrown herself into her studies, into anything that could distract her from the emptiness that had settled in her chest. But now, as she stood in her mother’s room, she couldn’t escape the reality any longer. Her mother was gone, and Suman was left to figure out how to fill the void she had left behind.

Suman looked at herself in the mirror again, her reflection blurry through the tears she hadn’t realized were falling. The woman looking back at her seemed older, wiser in a way that didn’t come from experience but from loss. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the weight of the saree settle around her like a mantle of responsibility.

The door creaked open, and Suman turned to see her younger brother, Rahul, standing in the doorway. He was taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader. Grief had changed him too, though he rarely spoke about their mother. He had retreated into his own world since her death, spending more time with his friends and less time at home.

“Are you… wearing mom’s saree?” Rahul asked, his voice soft, unsure.

Suman nodded, unsure how to explain why she had put it on in the first place. “I don’t know… it just felt like the right thing to do,” she said, her voice shaky. “I miss her.”

Rahul stepped into the room, his eyes lingering on the saree. “I miss her too,” he said quietly. He sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. “Sometimes, I think about all the things I never got to say to her. I didn’t even thank her for everything she did for us.”

Suman sat down beside him, the saree rustling softly as she moved. “I feel the same way. There’s so much I didn’t understand about her until now. It’s like, now that she’s gone, I’m finally starting to see her as a person, not just… mom.”

Rahul nodded, his eyes still focused on the floor. “Do you think she was happy? I mean, really happy?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded with the weight of their mother’s sacrifices. Suman thought about it for a moment, trying to piece together the puzzle of her mother’s life. “I think she found happiness in ways we didn’t always see,” she said slowly. “She loved us, and she loved taking care of us. But… maybe there were things she wanted that she never got to do.”

Rahul looked up at her, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored her own. “I wish we could have known her better. Really known her.”

The two siblings sat in silence for a while, the quiet of the house pressing in on them. Suman’s mind was racing with thoughts of her mother, of the life she had lived, the dreams she might have had. She had always seen her mother through the lens of her own rebellion—had always assumed that her mother’s life was small, confined by tradition and family expectations. But now, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe her mother had found a different kind of freedom, one that Suman was only beginning to understand.

Suman stood up and walked over to the dresser, picking up a small photo frame. It was a picture of her mother, smiling brightly at the camera, her eyes crinkled with laughter. Suman had never noticed how young her mother looked in that photo, how alive she seemed. She wondered what her mother had been thinking when that picture was taken, what dreams she had held in her heart.

She turned back to Rahul, holding the frame in her hands. “I think she was happy, in her own way. But maybe we can honor her by living the life she didn’t get to—by chasing our dreams, but also by appreciating the simple things that she loved.”

Rahul nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. I think she’d like that.”

Later that evening, as Suman helped her father with dinner, she found herself slipping into the rhythm of her mother’s routines—cutting the vegetables the way her mother had taught her, stirring the dal with the same care. Her father watched her quietly, his face etched with lines of grief and weariness. He hadn’t spoken much since Aarti’s death, but tonight, as they sat down to eat, he broke the silence.

“You look like her, you know,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Wearing that saree… for a moment, I thought…”

Suman looked at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “I miss her, Dad,” she said softly. “But I’m trying to understand her more now. I think… I think we all are.”

Her father nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “She was the heart of this family,” he said quietly. “But now, we have to learn how to carry on without her.”

Suman reached across the table, taking her father’s hand in hers. “We will. We’ll figure it out, together.”

In that moment, Suman realized that stepping into her mother’s shoes didn’t mean becoming her mother. It meant honoring her legacy, carrying forward the love and strength that Aarti had poured into their lives, and finding her own path forward.

As she looked around the table at her family, Suman felt a quiet sense of resolve settle over her. They would carry on, just as her mother had always taught them. And in doing so, they would keep her memory alive, not just in the saree she wore, but in the love and resilience they have .

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

GUWAHATI , ASSAM , INDIA

19/10/2024

LEADERSHIP SERIES

SLIDE – 16