October walks were beautiful in those summer hols. The sky splashed colors as the sun dipped into the ocean- resplendant oranges, pinks that mixed with the blue skies etching a memory of those colors, conversations and walks. Those colors draw me to a place we all often go to; take solace in- yesteryears.
What made those walks even more cherishable was next door neighbour, our pal from Hyderabad- Jasma. She was one of those that was coy and silent until you got to see the wacky side of her. She was one of those friends that you feel in hand-in-glove with- in times of mischief, in times of distress.
October ran out. Jasma moved to another city. Something terrible her mother had done. And Jasma was ashamed about. There was no trace of Jasma.
She once called my sis and said- " Am dying Anu. Pls dont be angry with me. Dont keep the phone." The receptionist described the 'weird' call to my sis. She left no numbers to call back. There was just no way to trace her.
After a few months, Mayi- her maid came to tell us Jasma was no more. She had died of cancer.
I cannot come to terms that I never could meet her for that one LAST time.
And tell her she was pure and divine. That we LOVED her. We still do.
Len Deighton - The Bernard Samson series
1 year ago