How about the short stories
Dearest Jaanu,
You are not here anymore and I have not seen you in almost a year. However, Valentine’s Day was always special to us. Now it is unforgettable. I was going through your stuff a few days back, after I finally found the strength to actually pack it up and I came across your diary – the diary you have addressed to me. Yet, you never told me about it. Your editorial instinct has filled it with neat marks and corrections on every page. I am just going to insert excerpts from it, because I am not capable of reproducing it with so much passion or detail.
Dt. 14 January 2001.
“I stared teary-eyed at your crying form when I said I needed to leave. My bags are all packed and ready to go and the only question I cannot answer is “Why?” I do not want to answer that question. I have asked myself innumerable times in the last few hours and have not been able to justify anything that was going on. I am a logical woman, and usually good at what I do. As the editor for one of the Scientific Journals, one who has grown up thinking everything out before placing it before people, I should be able to explain. However, I cannot plan or fathom this.
“A week back when my body-systems started functioning abnormally, I decided to go for my annual check-up, which I had not had in the past five years. I am only thirty, the in-between age. Like all people in their youth, I felt invincible; I felt like I ruled the world. I believed that annual check-ups are for children or old people. Fortunately, I am in very good shape. A strict vegan with no addictions, and you know that I hardly get sick. Daily five-mile jogs, yoga, optimism, my job and you, a man I love deeply has kept me beyond the evil clutches of pain and distress.
“I had gone to the doctor, thinking that I could be pregnant. I had hoped I would be. It would give me a perfect reason to get married, something that I have avoided all my life. Unhappy marriages of people around me have made me fear it. And so far, I have escaped all the questions by simply shrugging them off – even yours! But the doctor has pronounced my death sentence, instead. ‘You will need chemotherapy and heavy medication. I would advise you to quit your job for a while so that we can get this thing under control.’ I had expected him to give me a scientific overview of my condition. The doctor has known me a long time, and should know what I like to hear – the plain truth. He chose to take the easier way out and talk about my treatment options instead. I listened calmly. I wanted to ask him how much pain it would put me in. The question remained unasked. I knew I had to bear it, no matter how much.
“I could not tell this to you, love. I know it would shatter you. You are perfectly capable of standing by my side through it all, holding my hand, but I cannot do this to you. Your career has just taken off to a bright new angle. You need time to make it work the way you have always dreamed. I decided that I would come back and live with you again only after I am better. I am not going to tell you anything about my condition right now. I simply told you that I needed space and move out. I also requested you not to ask me any questions and simply have faith in me. I knew that you would do this much for me if you felt that it made me happy. I had packed before you got home and arranged for an apartment that was available for immediate move-in. I am not taking much with me. My memories are all I need for now. My savings account would pay for my rent and bills and my insurance for my treatment, I had confirmed.”
You left. I was sitting on the couch, a stray tear tumbling from my eye asking the walls in vain, “Why? Why now, after so many years?” I knew that you could be ruthless, and yet, I knew that you loved me deeply. That is what hurt the most — letting go of someone who still loved me. However, if it made you happy, it was all that counted. I sat there hearing your car drive off into the distance. I felt a gnawing at my heart and a heartache I never had imagined I would ever feel. I knew something had changed in the last twenty-four hours, but could not figure out what. I walked up to the kitchen and fixed myself a stiff drink. Then I went to the bedroom that we had shared for so many years, in our home and reached out for the bedside drawer. Pulling out the photo album, which we have so carefully put together over the years, I stared at the photographs. I felt like I had never seen them before, with these eyes.
Your smile jumped out at me on every page. Our love shines like a halo in every picture. I wanted you to come back. I was willing to do what it took, but I knew that you were honest enough to have told me, if it was my fault. I have ached for your touch. I have wanted you to hug me close and tell me that it was all a joke. I have wanted to hold your hand one more time and tell you that I think you are my soul mate. You are. I have wanted to run my fingers through your thick hair and feel the silky softness of your skin. I have wanted to cook for you, talk to you in the different languages that we have learnt together over the years. I have wanted to paint with you and argue with you about what history was really telling the world. I have wanted to do so much. Yet, all I have done is wait patiently until you came back. I knew, that you would, someday…
February 10th, 2001
“I started my chemotherapy right after I left you, in earnest. Days passed by and I felt worse because of the medication. Throwing up has become a way of life and the ride from the hospital to my apartment is as tiring as a hike in dark woods. I have lost almost all my hair. I do not know what is worse, my sickness or my treatment! I have told no one. I still call you every now and then and send you emails every once in a while, when I have the strength to. However, I want you to know that not a single moment passes when I do not think of you, and the day we will be together again, forever. We will get married once I come back. That way, we can plan for that family we have always wanted. You always tell me that you are waiting and that you hope I am doing fine. Every time you say that, I have come very close to telling you everything and reassuring you. But I do not. Today you said, for the millionth time that you wanted to meet me. I averted the subject as always. You said that you was not doing well and had bouts of sickness occasionally. And I simply told you to take anti-nausea pills and that I loved you. You had empathy–sickness, but I did not tell you that. We ended the call then. It was time to meet my doctor for my fourth weekly report – a very significant one, the nurses said.”
February 14th, 2001
“That day, I drove to the hospital and waited patiently for the doctor to arrive. I noticed that when he came in, his hair was nicely set and he had all his pens lined up in order in his shirt pocket. It was unlike him. He looked at me and told me that I had a couple more weeks, at the most, to live. The cancer had taken over my body completely and he was surprised that I could even walk. Then again, you know that I have always been strong. It did not surprise or shock me. I asked him if there was anything more and he just smiled a pale smile and said that if there were, they would have done it. I bid him farewell and said that I probably would not come back. I started to drive back to my apartment, but instead turned the other way and went to a store, dragged myself with great difficulty through the lines. I am always so tired these days. I picked up a few gifts for you and a scarf for myself. I am going to give you the gifts today. I do not have any more strength to write, and I want to smile when I see you so I will simply stop here. I love you sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day for all the years to come. You will always be my Valentine.”
I heard your car in the driveway and ran to open the door before you could ring the doorbell. “Welcome home!” My smile faded when you collapsed in my arms. You gave me your medical folder and a bag of gifts. You whispered that you loved me and that you did not intend things to turn out this way, while I flipped through the folder. You laid your scarf-covered head on my shoulder that was already drenched with our tears and sighed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart!” You were breathing in rasps by then. “Create…keep creating something, always…love reflects through what you do…not how you do it…I am dying in peace, because I am in your arms, the place I should have never left…permit me to go.” I merely nodded and sunk my head on your neck. There was so much that I wanted to tell you. There were so many questions, yet you were in my arms, and nothing else mattered. You looked so peaceful, so beautiful, and so innocent, even when near death. I simply said that I loved you and your scarf slid away from beneath your head.
Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. I will never stop loving you.
Yours forever
You are not here anymore and I have not seen you in almost a year. However, Valentine’s Day was always special to us. Now it is unforgettable. I was going through your stuff a few days back, after I finally found the strength to actually pack it up and I came across your diary – the diary you have addressed to me. Yet, you never told me about it. Your editorial instinct has filled it with neat marks and corrections on every page. I am just going to insert excerpts from it, because I am not capable of reproducing it with so much passion or detail.
Dt. 14 January 2001.
“I stared teary-eyed at your crying form when I said I needed to leave. My bags are all packed and ready to go and the only question I cannot answer is “Why?” I do not want to answer that question. I have asked myself innumerable times in the last few hours and have not been able to justify anything that was going on. I am a logical woman, and usually good at what I do. As the editor for one of the Scientific Journals, one who has grown up thinking everything out before placing it before people, I should be able to explain. However, I cannot plan or fathom this.
“A week back when my body-systems started functioning abnormally, I decided to go for my annual check-up, which I had not had in the past five years. I am only thirty, the in-between age. Like all people in their youth, I felt invincible; I felt like I ruled the world. I believed that annual check-ups are for children or old people. Fortunately, I am in very good shape. A strict vegan with no addictions, and you know that I hardly get sick. Daily five-mile jogs, yoga, optimism, my job and you, a man I love deeply has kept me beyond the evil clutches of pain and distress.
“I could not tell this to you, love. I know it would shatter you. You are perfectly capable of standing by my side through it all, holding my hand, but I cannot do this to you. Your career has just taken off to a bright new angle. You need time to make it work the way you have always dreamed. I decided that I would come back and live with you again only after I am better. I am not going to tell you anything about my condition right now. I simply told you that I needed space and move out. I also requested you not to ask me any questions and simply have faith in me. I knew that you would do this much for me if you felt that it made me happy. I had packed before you got home and arranged for an apartment that was available for immediate move-in. I am not taking much with me. My memories are all I need for now. My savings account would pay for my rent and bills and my insurance for my treatment, I had confirmed.”
You left. I was sitting on the couch, a stray tear tumbling from my eye asking the walls in vain, “Why? Why now, after so many years?” I knew that you could be ruthless, and yet, I knew that you loved me deeply. That is what hurt the most — letting go of someone who still loved me. However, if it made you happy, it was all that counted. I sat there hearing your car drive off into the distance. I felt a gnawing at my heart and a heartache I never had imagined I would ever feel. I knew something had changed in the last twenty-four hours, but could not figure out what. I walked up to the kitchen and fixed myself a stiff drink. Then I went to the bedroom that we had shared for so many years, in our home and reached out for the bedside drawer. Pulling out the photo album, which we have so carefully put together over the years, I stared at the photographs. I felt like I had never seen them before, with these eyes.
Your smile jumped out at me on every page. Our love shines like a halo in every picture. I wanted you to come back. I was willing to do what it took, but I knew that you were honest enough to have told me, if it was my fault. I have ached for your touch. I have wanted you to hug me close and tell me that it was all a joke. I have wanted to hold your hand one more time and tell you that I think you are my soul mate. You are. I have wanted to run my fingers through your thick hair and feel the silky softness of your skin. I have wanted to cook for you, talk to you in the different languages that we have learnt together over the years. I have wanted to paint with you and argue with you about what history was really telling the world. I have wanted to do so much. Yet, all I have done is wait patiently until you came back. I knew, that you would, someday…
February 10th, 2001
“I started my chemotherapy right after I left you, in earnest. Days passed by and I felt worse because of the medication. Throwing up has become a way of life and the ride from the hospital to my apartment is as tiring as a hike in dark woods. I have lost almost all my hair. I do not know what is worse, my sickness or my treatment! I have told no one. I still call you every now and then and send you emails every once in a while, when I have the strength to. However, I want you to know that not a single moment passes when I do not think of you, and the day we will be together again, forever. We will get married once I come back. That way, we can plan for that family we have always wanted. You always tell me that you are waiting and that you hope I am doing fine. Every time you say that, I have come very close to telling you everything and reassuring you. But I do not. Today you said, for the millionth time that you wanted to meet me. I averted the subject as always. You said that you was not doing well and had bouts of sickness occasionally. And I simply told you to take anti-nausea pills and that I loved you. You had empathy–sickness, but I did not tell you that. We ended the call then. It was time to meet my doctor for my fourth weekly report – a very significant one, the nurses said.”
February 14th, 2001
“That day, I drove to the hospital and waited patiently for the doctor to arrive. I noticed that when he came in, his hair was nicely set and he had all his pens lined up in order in his shirt pocket. It was unlike him. He looked at me and told me that I had a couple more weeks, at the most, to live. The cancer had taken over my body completely and he was surprised that I could even walk. Then again, you know that I have always been strong. It did not surprise or shock me. I asked him if there was anything more and he just smiled a pale smile and said that if there were, they would have done it. I bid him farewell and said that I probably would not come back. I started to drive back to my apartment, but instead turned the other way and went to a store, dragged myself with great difficulty through the lines. I am always so tired these days. I picked up a few gifts for you and a scarf for myself. I am going to give you the gifts today. I do not have any more strength to write, and I want to smile when I see you so I will simply stop here. I love you sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day for all the years to come. You will always be my Valentine.”
I heard your car in the driveway and ran to open the door before you could ring the doorbell. “Welcome home!” My smile faded when you collapsed in my arms. You gave me your medical folder and a bag of gifts. You whispered that you loved me and that you did not intend things to turn out this way, while I flipped through the folder. You laid your scarf-covered head on my shoulder that was already drenched with our tears and sighed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart!” You were breathing in rasps by then. “Create…keep creating something, always…love reflects through what you do…not how you do it…I am dying in peace, because I am in your arms, the place I should have never left…permit me to go.” I merely nodded and sunk my head on your neck. There was so much that I wanted to tell you. There were so many questions, yet you were in my arms, and nothing else mattered. You looked so peaceful, so beautiful, and so innocent, even when near death. I simply said that I loved you and your scarf slid away from beneath your head.
Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. I will never stop loving you.
Yours forever
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