The street in the neighborhood, a long-ago neighborhood, seemed even more desolate today. There was a small crowd at the door of the house opposite—the same people who used to laugh and talk with Sudha Aunty every day, now standing silently outside her house.
Sudha Aunty had merged into the five elements.
Slowly, people began to leave, leaving only Ramesh and his wife, Geeta, behind. They were long-time neighbors, whose house wall adjoined Sudha Aunty's courtyard.
Ramesh's eyes were fixed on the ashes of the extinguished pyre, and he felt as if Sudha Aunty's face was still smiling through the smoke.
First acquaintance...
It was about twenty-five years ago.
Ramesh and Geeta had been married barely a year when they moved into a rented house. An elderly woman lived nearby—Sudha Aunty. Around fifty-five years old, but always smiling.
On the very first day, she said, "Son, have you cooked the food? If not, come here. I made gourd koftas today."
Geeta blushed, "No, Aunt, I've made them."
Aunt laughed, "Okay! Then tomorrow you'll eat my koftas, and the day after tomorrow I'll eat roti made by you."
And from that day on, the relationship began.
Slowly, Aunt Sudha became the "mother" of the entire neighborhood. If someone had a baby, Aunt would be the first to arrive, and if someone's daughter got a job, tears of joy would well up in her eyes.
Aunt's husband, Arun Babu, was in the railways.
He had passed away in an accident fifteen years ago.
They had a son, Rahul. He was good at studies, but very restless. After marriage, he went to Delhi and never returned.
He would answer yes or no on the phone and send money, that's all.
... On every birthday of Anshu, Aunty would take something out of her old cupboard and give it to her—sometimes a handkerchief, sometimes a storybook, sometimes a small wooden toy.
Ramesh and Geeta would laugh, "Aunty, this is your treasure."
Aunty would say, "Son, whatever you share is your treasure."
The changing seasons of time...
Over the years, new people came to the neighborhood. Old memories were becoming mere memories.
Rahul hadn't seen his mother in years.
Occasionally, he would send money and a short message—"Mom, take care of yourself."
Aunty Sudha had grown frail.
Every evening, she would sit on the veranda, staring at the distant sky.
When Geeta brought her tea, she would say, "Just let God take care of you, so I can find peace."
Geeta would laugh and say, "Aunty! Don't talk like that. You still have to see Anshu's wedding."
Aunty would smile, "I'll see to it, son, if God wills."
The last meeting...
One morning, Geeta's neighbor, Bina, told her,
"Aunty Sudha has been admitted to the hospital. She couldn't breathe last night."
Ramesh and Geeta rushed over.
Aunty was lying down with an oxygen mask on, but as soon as Geeta went in, she opened her eyes.
"You're here, Thakur's daughter-in-law... I'm sorry, I had to call you. Now it seems the time has come to go."
Tears welled up in Geeta's eyes, "Don't say such things, Aunty."
Aunty, with trembling hands, pulled a small envelope from under the pillow and placed it on Geeta's palm -
"This is my last gift. Don't open it now. Open it when you get home. Promise me."
Geeta shook her head.
Aunty slowly closed her eyes.
Her palm fell limp in Geeta's.
The funeral took place the next day. The entire neighborhood gathered.
Ramesh performed all the rituals as if he were his own son. Rahul also came, but only stood for a while and then left.
Geeta returned home that night and opened the envelope.
Inside was an old letter, its handwriting slightly shaky:
> “Dear Geeta,
You are like my daughter.
The love you gave me is something I didn't get even from my son.
I don't have much—just this house and the memories it holds.
This house is yours now. Treat it as your own.
And yes, there's a small box in my bouquet, containing my old jewelry—give it to Anshu's daughter-in-law, with my blessings.
Yours,
Aunt Sudha.”
Tears rolled down Geeta's eyes.
Ramesh bowed his head silently.
Some relationships don't die...
Two months later, when Geeta was cleaning out the cupboards, she found the box containing old jewelry and a photo.
In the photo—Sudha Aunty, Anshu, and Geeta were all laughing.
Written on the back—
"My real family"
Geeta hung the photo on the wall.
Every morning during her prayers, she would look at the photo and say—"Aunty, you're still here, you're just not visible."
Last line:
Relationships aren't always made of blood,
Sometimes a cup of tea, a smile, and a little affection can make them immortal.
Read more : -
.jpeg)
0 Comments