I loved my life. It was so full of experiences and thoughts. I have seen my little girl through it all.
A brave girl, my Disha is. She is true to her name. Disha means direction and she has always walked on bravely in the direction she considers fair and correct. A beautiful childhood filled with her parents love. One day it all disappeared, a tragic end to the home. Her parents passed away while driving back home on her birthday. Life passed by in a split second. I remember having held her close when she got the news. She was so small and yet so brave. Uncle’s home was never the same. They were kind to her but it was not out of love, it was out of pity. She grew up silently. Time heals and Disha found her Disha.
After finishing college, she took to social service. She gave “disha” to the directionless. I know how her heart filled up with joy when she found a home for an orphan. That girl gave, she gave much more than anyone could have.
I still remember when she told me about meeting this fellow counselor, Dhruv. He was a dream come true, they shared the same passions for serving others. I was scared for her too. But all my fears were washed away when I heard the carefree laughter and getting something from life rather than giving. It was a quiet ceremony and true marital bliss followed. They opened their own social centre which housed an orphanage, an old age home and provided counseling services. She rarely met me but I always watched from a distance. Soon, the twins came into the world, sparkling and bright eyed as their parents. Deep and Dipti were so playful and fun. It was really “THE(D)” family.
They had found a hole in Dhruv’s heart which only was getting bigger. The only recourse was a heart transplant and donors were few and far between. I let her cry and howl while she held me close for comfort. It was a slow death. Dhruv got sicker and sullen. The children grew silent and the happy chatters ceased. Dhruv passed away quietly and Disha braved on.
Today as I lie next to her. I can feel the pain, the years she has faced and the troubles she has overcome. I have felt her tears, her laughter, her cries, her silence, her tiredness, her hard work, her desire to fight. I have seen it all and lived it with her. I have in me the Disha who no one knew. In my pages are her life, in my lines are her smiles, in my words are her years. It was her desire to be buried and as the coffin closes, I let out a sigh. I wish someday Deep or Dipti find me and read the memoirs of Disha and find their Disha. Till, then I lie in forgotten, the ageless journal of Disha.
