Every speaker has three speeches, in her, kitty, one that she prepares, the one she delivers and the one that she wishes she delivered
Mahi thought it appeared to be true about letters too, the sent, the unsent and the ones wished unsent. In her hand she toyed with this neat bundle of letters, to open or not to open was the question. It was so carefully preserved. She had come across these when she was winding up her Grandmother’s desk.
She was reminded of her gran’s words” well, I tried drowning but that didn’t work: somehow the urge to life, mere physical life is damn strong and I felt that I could swim forever straight out into the sea and sun and never be able to swallow more than gulp or two of water and swim on. The body is amazingly stubborn when it comes to sacrificing itself to the annihilating directions of the mind.” that was precisely what she felt, with curiosity edging her,
She untied the file, her grandmother had a penchant for the auroville handmade paper files that were bound with strings, and grandmother had her own thrill of adding small jingles to it. The folder had pink sheet that smelt faintly of lavender and sandalwood, are a rather strange combination.
The titles said, “letters, received” Mahi smiled as she opened the letters, they were letters writing by Tarun her younger brother and her, since they could write, early letter had no vowels in them, below was her grandmothers tidy writing, that said ,”Bilkin Basha, Hebrew style.” Gradually words formed, childish issues shared, there were letters with noting, like “to bring to Sheila’s notice” “to be acknowledged while replying” it was wonderful, the care the meticulousness that her grandmother had. No wonder she always said, “Lack of communication has a way of clipping our wings, which keeps us from flying. When things are left unspoken, we forget that everyone is destined to share together.”
As she went through the letters, it was like growing up once again through the eyes of her grandmother, then came a red handmade paper, on it was written, I am master of my spoken words and slave to those which have remained unspoken.
As she flipped the pages, the letters were addressed to various people, anguish and anger that she could not imagine that her ever pleasant non-judgemental grandmother could possess. The anguish she felt when she overheard a villager tell her mother-in-law that your daughter-in-law looks so masculine, while your son is good looking. Each letter addressed to her offender and at the end of it was I forgive you, and letting you comes means to come to the realization that you are part of my history, but not my destiny.
The letters were beautiful. Some were written to herself with memories that she enjoyed, some letters to herself reminding her of her dreams. …..I gave you painted air…tears i couldn’t weep- truths I couldn’t speak – all the words that caught in my throat… she seems to whisper through the fragrance of Lavender and sandalwood another lesson.