Memories are tricky things...you feel you are storing them for future use, often put in a Herculean effort to arrange and organize them (e-memories or otherwise), and yet, you seldom revisit them, because life moves on, and when you do, you simply feel a pang. Like on the night Nikhu passed away, I felt so extremely restless that for the first time in ten years I went to the Gmail label colored pink and named after my bossie. I just read one letter, his last day mail sent to the SG team, which he separately forwarded to me, and one chat log. I couldn't take it anymore. This man loved me. Yet he's nowhere.
Meanwhile there are different memories too. The ones that go undocumented. When we found Nikhu too weak to move, I was running from pillar to post to save him. My dad was unperturbed. He firmly carried him to our home (Nikhu was a big healthy dog), wrapped him up and made him a bed, asked mom to boil water and fill the hot water bag, and all the time kept talking to Nikhu. I could only hear excerpts while running around. "Will you die, Nikhu? You don't like to live with us anymore? You don't like us anymore?" It was heartbreaking. My dad says that when Kutu died, the day before she had given him a pleading look, trying to say - please take care of my puppies. Dad had cooked for all of them and fed them three square meals a day as long as they lived. While they lived, they were well fed. And happy.
Nowadays we have nothing better to do than lament. I badly long for a few words of comfort from the man I love. His philosophical mails. I need them. But I can't ask. I have myself closed the channel of communication. Disha does comfort, she's such an angel. But I am just afraid of loving anyone anymore...
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