Dedicated to: manyakumar31 _LibraChild_

"The rain's a reminder, of how life can be,

it quenches the earth's thirst,

alas, in excess, brings to us, grief.

Washing away the dust, making the world rejoice,

a simple melody when drizzles, ironically during a storm; noise.

Breathing life into this creation of the Almighty,

the celestial droplets descend from Heaven,

their naivete making us smile, our gratitude expressed for what we prayed.

Their rage makes us cry, the heart stops for a moment,

the catastrophic flash of light blinds the horizon,

the mighty thunder falls, the effects devastating.

The world cries when there comes no rain,

prays and prays, for the Lord to help them salvage,

the life one lives survive through thick and thin,

their sobs mingling with floodwaters, the rivers

overflow with the powerful current of grief.

The lonely log of wood which had once been dry,

in dire need of moisture, stays afloat,

helping those who have been stripped of their homes.

The key's to hold on, to not let go,

lest risk being carried away by the tide.

Life's a journey that one ought to survive,

to live we must be prepared to outlast,

every storm and flood, every quake, every drought,

to be able to fly, and never shy away from diving into life."

-Elegiac_Damsel

_____

30th August

Third person's point of view:

The dreary monsoon air in the City of Dreams greeted the guests at ISKCON Temple, Juhu, combined with feeble smiles from the mourning and grieving family. 

Following the two siblings' confrontation, Anindita and Anurag refrained from speaking to one another, fearing further malice and bitterness that could sour their mood at Agastya's prayer meeting. 

It was noon, and Anindita and Anurag had just concluded the prayers and rituals. Around 30 people were in attendance, including a few neighbours at Anindita's flat in Nerul, and a few acquaintances. 

The hall where the service was taking place was primarily decorated in white, a colour of purity, and often mourning. There were white flowers strewn across, and the room bore a very heavy, ambrosial fragrance of tuberose and white roses. There was the silence and gloom that wasn't unfamiliar to a funeral or memorial meet combined with the liveliness of the oblivious children. 

Aryaman and Rhitam, who hadn't even known their grandfather, were running around and playing. Agamani, accompanying Satyaki and Rohini, became fast friends with Rhitam and had taken an immediate liking to Aryaman. The three of them had made it their mission to distance themselves from the gloom and despondency of the prayer meeting, thus taking their time to play around and chat. This had earned the two boys a sound scolding from their mother, Gitanjali, who seemed genuinely annoyed and flustered at her sons, and their overenthusiastic energy at an occasion that commanded solemnity. Agamani, too, had been chided by Satyaki more than once. 

All in all, Apurba, who had been sitting demurely beside Rohini and Aparajita, was grateful for the presence of these munchkins, who paid little attention to the gloom and sadness around, and made their own moments of joy. She forwent her own sorrow and grief in their presence, involving herself in their activities. She was still feeble due to her health, and the lingering pain would course through her at brief intervals. Being present here at the prayer meeting of her late husband was taking an emotional toll on her.

"Ma, we are done with the rituals here," Anindita informed her mother, pausing to smile weakly at Rohini. "We'll leave in another hour or so? Once the kids from the orphanage begin having their lunch?"

"We are the hosts, baby," Apurba replied. "I think it would be best we remain here till they get done."

Anindita nodded in agreement, whispering something to Aparajita before leaving to speak with her brother.

"Dada," she addressed Anurag approaching him. "Ma says she wants to remain here till every child we invited for lunch get done. The kids, Ma, boudi, you, and Aparajita can go and dine at the restaurant here. It will be too late if we wait till we get home. After all, it's a two-hour drive, and with the rains, we would only get delayed further."

"What about you, Anindita?" Anurag enquired his sister. 

"Dada, I am going out, nearby, for some air," she replied, guilt apparent in her voice for wanting to leave their father's memorial meeting.

Anurag contemplated his sister's words for a moment before waving her off. It would definitely seem odd if Anindita left right in the middle of the service, but given the close attachment that she had shared with her father, it was totally understandable that she was beginning to feel asphyxiated with all that was going on.

Acknowledging all the guests with a mere nod of her head, Anindita exited the prayer hall and proceeded towards the main temple premises hoping that she would be in time to catch a glimpse of the deity in the sanctum sanctorum before the temple closed for the afternoon.

The temple had not been closed yet.

Anindita had arrived just in time. She took a seat on the floor, her feet resting on one of the marble steps as she sat there in silence. The area around was bustling with activity, contradicting her silent, serene demeanour but totally corresponding with the deafening noise of her thoughts that alas remained unvoiced and unshared. 

The pealing bells of the temple resounded in Anindita's ears. She desperately wanted some comfort. She yearned for the presence of those non-existent friends and for those friends she had left behind in her past. Neither could she cry in Apurba's presence since it would break her mother's resolve nor could she cry in solitude. 

It was only at this moment that Anindita truly felt her loneliness and despondency. The only family she now had left was Apurba, and she didn't want to accept the reality or even imagine that there would inevitably come a time when her mother's health would also fail, leaving her orphaned and alone. 

She sighed helplessly, trying to dismiss the unpleasant, melancholy inducing thoughts. 

"Anindita auntie?" Agamani's voice called out from nowhere. 

Anindita was stupefied. She turned hither thither, searching for the little girl. Was she here, or did she imagine it? Or perhaps, it was some other kid who was addressing someone else with the same name as hers?

Her doubts were proven wrong. She had indeed heard Agamani, who was standing at the foot of the steps of the temple, her hand on her waist, looking at Anindita with an interrogative gaze. 

"Baby, what are you doing here?" Anindita asked tiredly, beckoning the little girl to come close to her. 

"I followed you here, Anindita Auntie," Agamani answered sheepishly. "You looked sad."

Anindita sighed. Although she was deeply touched by the little girl's thoughtfulness and concern, she had been in dire need of some time alone.

"I am fine, sweetheart," she replied, managing to smile weakly at the kid. "Does your father know that you are here?"

Agamani shook her head.

Clearly displeased with Agamani's response, Anindita abruptly brought out her phone from the small purse she had been carrying. She typed out a text to Satyaki, informing him that his daughter was with her inside the temple. 

"Were you talking to God here?" Agamani asked Anindita, unperturbed by the woman's quietude. 

"Yes, baby," Anindita replied, smiling down at the girl who had now taken her seat on the marble floor, next to herself. 

"Auntie, Papa said your father also went to God. Were you giving Him a message through God?" she asked innocently, unwittingly touching a raw nerve. "I often write letters to Mamma, for God to give them to her up there."

"Yes, I was also asking God to convey my message to Baba," Anindita said shortly, her smile faltering for a brief moment. "Now, sweetheart, have you been here before?" she asked Agamani, changing the topic swiftly.

Agamani shook her head, her eyes looking curiously at the devotees involved in kirtana. 

"What are they singing?" she inquired. 

"They are singing in praise of God," Anindita explained. "They pray to God through songs. You know that Lord Krishna loved playing the flute and that he would dance and play with his friends?"

"With Radha," Agamani stated enthusiastically. "And he also went about stealing butter! He must have been so naughty."

Anindita laughed, "Yes, he was so mischievous. If you listen carefully to the songs the devotees are singing, you'll understand that they are calling Lord Krishna. Addressing him as Radha's friend and lover or as the apple of his foster mother Yashoda's eyes. He is also referred to as the Lord of the universe. The same stories that you have heard from your grandmother are depicted through these songs that they sing. God likes it when we think of Him and remember Him through music."

"So he likes to dance to the music?" 

"He likes to see us happy and smiling, sweetheart," she whispered, bending to kiss the little girl's forehead. "But He ensures it is tough for us all," she muttered incoherently to herself.

"Krishna is my favourite God, Auntie," Agamani confessed, grinning widely. "I just love his stories so much. I always ask Thamma to narrate more of Krishna's stories. "

"Baby, the temple will be closing now for the afternoon," Anindita told Agamani. "We should get back. Your father must be waiting for you."

Reaching out to hold on to the little girl's hand, Anindita stood upon the marble steps, pausing momentarily to lower her head in obeisance to the deities in the temple's sanctum sanctorum, bringing her other hand to touch her forehead and then her chest, right above the heart.

"Let's go back, shall we?" Anindita asked, smiling as she looked at Agamani, who was mimicking her actions.

...

"Where were you, Dugga?" Satyaki asked his daughter, seething. "You have been misbehaving since morning, and now you feel like gallivanting about? Would it have hurt you to inform your grandmother or me?"

"Papa, I just followed Anindita Auntie," Agamani whined in a feeble attempt at defending her actions. "She looked sad."

"This excuse will not work with me, young lady," his response was clipped and stern. "I appreciate you thinking of Anindita, but going about on your own in a new place full of strangers and a variety of people? What were you thinking? What if you had lost your way, or someone would have taken advantage of you? I am very disappointed at your irresponsibility."

Agamani's eyes welled up with unshed tears as she bore her father's wrath, still unsure as to what the reason of his displeasure and annoyance was. 

"I am sorry," she hiccuped in a small voice, turning on her heels and running away from her father and towards Anindita.

She caught Anindita, her tiny hands encircling the older woman's midriff, her face pressed against Anindita's sari as tears made their way down her cheeks.

"What's wrong, baby," Anindita enquired, her hand stroking Agamani's head in a gentle, comforting motion. "Did your father scold you?"

She nodded in reply, still crying.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Anindita tried to cajole Agamani. "He was concerned about you, baby. You need to understand that it isn't safe for you to go around here and there. You are still little, and you must realise that you are your father's world. He doesn't want anything to happen to you."

"He is very bad," Agamani said, sniffling, her voice muffled due to her pressed face against Anindita's waist. "He scolded me. I didn't go away anywhere far, but," her voice trailed off as she sobbed quietly, seeking comfort from the woman.

"Dugga, sweetheart," Anindita began, going down on her knees to match Agamani's level. "Trust me when I say this, baby. It wasn't your dad's wrath that spoke; it was his concern. My Baba also scolded me once when I had ventured out without telling him or Ma or even Dada. I must have been around 7 years old then," she recalled fondly, in an attempt to explain to Agamani that the scolding she had been in for was not unfamiliar to her.

"What did you do?" Agamani asked Anindita, surprised that the seemingly serious woman could also be scolded for recklessness and foolhardy.

"We used to live in a chawl in Ghatkopar," Anindita said, reminiscing. "I had walked out of our room without informing Ma and Baba and had gone up to the rickety terrace there, climbing over the parapet in my attempt to see the wedding that was taking place in the neighbourhood."

Agamani's eyes widened. She could very well see how scary it must have been for anyone to see a young girl pulling off such a stunt with her imaginative eye.

"My father scolded me so badly that day," Anindita continued, her voice quivering just slightly as she mentioned Agastya. "He took away the chocolates that he had brought for me that day and distributed it among the other children in the chawl. Trust me when I say this, baby, I had never felt more resentment towards my father than I had on that day."

"But you did wrong," Agamani defended. "You could have been injured very badly."

"And anything could have happened to you as well," Anindita finished, laughing. "Now, Dugga, do you understand why your father was angry with you?"

Agamani blushed scarlet, hiding her face in her palms. 

Satyaki, who had been witnessing his daughter's meltdown from a distance, chose this moment to make an appearance.

"Dugga, I hope you are done crying," he began briskly. "And now, if you have understood why I scolded you, then I am sure you wouldn't mind accepting a treat of ice cream later before we get home?"

Anindita shook her head in amusement as the embarrassment and sadness that had been eminent on Agamani's face dissipated, the upward parabolic curve of her lips of ardour replacing the previously downturned frown. 

"We'll leave in a while. I need to speak to Anindita once. Go and sit next to your grandmother," Satyaki directed. "Quietly."

"I am sorry your daughter put you in anxiety because of me," Anindita began as soon as Agamani was out of earshot. "I didn't realise she was following me, or else I would have informed you beforehand."

"I know," Satyaki said solemnly. "It is just that I tend to get a bit overprotective of her. Especially since," he gulped.

"I understand," Anindita replied, her hand touching his in a gesture of empathy. "Thanks for coming here today."

"How have you been holding up lately?" he asked, not bothering to reply to her courteous acknowledgement. 

Anindita shrugged, "Have been holding up. Just holding up enough to survive."

"You've got to survive, Anindita," Satyaki said, smiling at her. "You seem quite pale. I know what you are going through and that this could be an aftereffect of your mental and emotional state, but is something wrong with your health?"

She shifted guiltily, feeling uneasy at his observation and mindful scrutiny. She had been keeping unwell, and the lingering tension with finances, and her mental state after being bereaved was adding to it. 

"Just a bit of migraine," Anindita responded shortly, skipping details.

"How frequent?" Satyaki asked her quietly, his voice emotionless, almost professional. "And rate the intensity of pain on a scale from 1 to 10."

"Quite frequent, but the pain dissipates with ibuprofen or paracetamol."

"Intensity of pain?" Satyaki repeated, his patience wearing thin slightly at Anindita's masked replies. 

"6," Anindita answered reluctantly. "But I am fine. I am managing alright with the analgesics and pain relief balms. I am sure it will be well once I return to normalcy and re-commence flying."

Satyaki contemplated her words. For an acid attack survivor who had sustained and survived severe burns on her face, he knew that the intensity of pain stated was much lesser than the actual intensity that any other person would have felt.

"You need to seek some serious treatment, Anindita," he finally ceded in a resigned statement. "Let me be very honest, Anindita. The state you are pushing yourself into will eventually see the end of your career in civil aviation if you leave it untreated."

Anindita was taken aback. She stared at Satyaki incredulously, "What are you saying, Satyaki? I need to fly. I need to. I like flying. I earn."

"Do you realise that you will eventually fail to clear medical tests and that you will have to give up flying subsequently if you do not seek medical attention?" he explained. "Furthermore, even if you continue flying with a severe migraine, and continuously deteriorating health, you will not only be endangering your own life but the lives of every passenger."

"Satyaki, I just cannot give up on flying," Anindita protested, her voice reflecting her panic. "I need the earnings to survive. No one's giving me a corporate job at the age of 30 with zero experience. I have nothing else to do."

"Anindita, I am not asking you to give up on flying," Satyaki explained in a reassuring tone. "I simply wish you would take a proper break and focus on getting yourself treated."

"You know I cannot," she replied quietly.

"You need to," he urged. "Migraines cannot be left untreated. Trust me when I say this as a fully qualified doctor. Analgesics and painkillers are as good as drugs, just non-narcotic ones. You cannot be that dependant on them. It is equivalent to addiction. Do you realise how much dependence you have developed on painkillers? You also take sedatives for going to sleep. You are inviting a health catastrophe, Anindita."

Anindita was silent, absorbing his words. Her eyes were glassy, expressing the helplessness that she dared not voice, silently. 

"Are you willing to help me, Satyaki?" she finally asked. "I am seeking your help as a medical professional, not and never pro bono."

"There are better doctors out there, Anindita," Satyaki spoke hesitantly. "Moreover, I am in the surgical department. You need therapeutic attention."

"I know that you are a neurologist and neurosurgeon," Anindita insisted. "Please help me. It will be a bit convenient for me. And I know you are hesitating since you doctors don't usually wish to treat patients you might know on a personal level. You are aware of the nature of my profession, and you know a part of what has transpired."

"Can you make it to my chamber in Worli anytime next week?" Satyaki asked, giving in. "The hours are from 10 in the morning to 2 in the afternoon."

Anindita sighed. With the last of her savings in her bank account staring at her blankly, she had to go out on a flight. 

"I signed up to fly to London on the 2nd," she replied. "My brother and his family are here, so I can leave Ma home and go for a few days. I will be back on the 7th. Maybe we can arrange for a consultation in the subsequent week?"

"Will await your confirmation of the date," Satyaki nodded, agreeing. 

"Thank you," Anindita said with a smile. "I need to get going. The kids from the orphanage are here for lunch. Thanks again for being here."

"Try surviving till we meet again," Satyaki said in a light-hearted manner. "I need to get back home too with that overenthusiastic minx."

Anindita laughed, "Just admit your old self is no match for her energy."

"You aren't getting any younger either," he retorted. Waving off the kiddish riposte, Anindita walked off, a smile gracing her lips. 

The journey of life is never going to be easy. Survival is just made easy by the people we have around us.

...

2nd September

It was 3 am.

An alarm clock was beeping away in the silence of the wee hours of the morning. The Mukherjee household was plunged into quiet darkness. Anindita was the sole one to awaken at the sound of the ringing alarm. 

 She had managed to sleep well for the first time in the last couple of weeks. Following Satyaki's masked warning and advice, she had limited her intake of analgesics and had tried aromatherapy for her migraine and the resulting sickness and nausea. 

Anurag and Gitanjali were still in town and planned to remain in the country till the 10th. Having spoken to them, Anindita had decided to leave Apurba in their care for the duration of her absence from home. Apurba had been quite surprised to see Anindita wanting to get back to work so soon post her father's demise. She had chosen not to comment but had asked Gitanjali to enquire her daughter about the same. Catching on to her mother's ulterior endeavours, Anindita had remained silent and had chosen to not disclose any of her health or financial concerns to either Anurag or Gitanjali. 

Shutting off the alarm, Anindita sat up in the makeshift bed on the floor. She rubbed off the excess sleep from her eyes before scrambling to her feet. The flight was at 6 am. She had to be at the airport by 4. The cab that would ferry her to the airport was slated to arrive at her home by 3.30 am. 

Folding up the blankets that she had used, Anindita rapidly cleared up the makeshift bed and rolled the thin mattress aside. 

Flicking on the lights in the deserted living room, Anindita went about getting ready. She took a shower and changed into her pilot uniform. She used the mirror in the bathroom for grooming herself and checking on her attire since she couldn't use the dressing table and mirror in her room. Apurba was asleep in her room with her two grandsons while Anurag and Gitanjali occupied Anindita's bedroom.

Pinning her badge right above her left breast pocket, Anindita smiled at her reflection, satisfied with her appearance. She rapidly ran a mental check on all the belongings that she had packed before walking into the kitchen and writing a small note addressed to her brother:

"Dada,

Left home at 3.30 am. Flight at 6. Will be able to communicate post 8 pm IST. 

Take care.

Anindita.

P.S. List of important contacts kept in the TV cabinet under the remote. RSVP if needed."

That having been done, she grabbed her luggage and walked out through the front door to commence on her journey of survival.

...

To be continued...

PUBLISHED ON: 14th JULY 2021

Author's note:

Hi there!

This was a pure filler chapter with literally nothing in it. :-) Sorry for that, but I didn't want to drag this on.

The next chapter will be better and longer.

I hope you all are doing well. 

I would just like to take this opportunity to thank each of you who have been here and have been supporting an amateur author like me. I feel genuinely humbled at you all taking out time to read something that I attempt to write. It means way more to me than words can ever express.

I hope you and your loved ones are safe. Troubled times are still on, and we may or may not be emotionally or physically well, but I do hope that you all agree that life is all about survival, the same way Anindita did.

We need to survive. We need to pass this dark tunnel to welcome bright light.

That being said, I would like to sign off now. Hope to be back soon. College reopens with 2nd year from the 26th :-).

Stay safe.

Love and strength to all.