The Arrival

My inspiration for this story. Picture by your one and only. 

The arthritic and stubby branches of the peach tree in the garden was our harbinger of winter. The lonesome tree would look deranged and we'd know to unpack our winter clothes and start the tea regime in the morning. For the rest of us in the family, the tree being there didn't make any difference to our lives. But for my grandmother, it was a different story. It was her only answer to solitude. It was the whisper of a long lost love for her.

Ever since my grandfather died of heart attack , it was like a part of my grandmother died with him. She was no longer the cheerful person she used to be. She remained unhinged by the things that were going on around her. It was like a piece of her had drained from her body. My father said that it might be because of the sudden and untimely demise of my grandfather, but for none of us knew for sure. And we were too taken aback by her strange activities that we never asked.

Every evening, since my grandfather passed away, she went to the garden and sat in the bench directly below the peach tree in the garden. Sometimes she sipped lemon tea, which used to my grandfather's favorite, but mostly, she just stayed there. At first, we made her stay back at the house and didn't let her go as the wind, no matter how softly it blew, was bad for her health. But she was the happiest when sat under that tree, we later found out, and let her go. Her grey locks waved and fluttered with every wave of wind and she'd shiver but she never came in until it was practically night time.

 She looked the happiest and laid back on those spring evening when the garden would be in full bloom. The peach tree bore soft pink flowers and the garden looked spectacular with the warm backdrop. And with the pleasant smell of jasmines and roses in the air, she'd hum songs. The words were always vague as if it was only meant for her and the wind. After her routine at the garden, when she came back in, her bony cheeks would look flushed. She would smile at us and we reminisced the times when she acknowledged us with it  all the time.

My parents believed that the time she stayed at garden worked therapeutic magic on her. I would've liked  to believe in it if it were not for the winter that rolled back in, too soon and too strong.  Once again, the branches would shed all its leaves and become bare and lifeless and the sad part was, my grandmother reflected the same. It's no wonder I hate winter so much. Because despite all the solitude she asked us for, we loved her all the same. It hurt us to see her that way but we put up with it for the sake of her.

 My grandparents had had an arranged marriage. She was 15 and he was 17 when they tied the knot my grandmother had once told me. And after 50 years of putting up with each other's joy, sorrow and pain somehow they had become bound in a single ethereal soul. I lived with them all my life and had never heard them fight. My grandfather was a charmer. He'd say the right things at the right time and my bubbling volcano of a grandmother would subside. At those times, I'd pray to god for a guy like him in my life. But the same airiness of my grandfather broke her when he passed away. Since then, I don't know how I feel about it anymore, I don't know if I want it anymore.

On a march morning two years after my grandfathers death, my grandmother lost the touch with the world as well. Ever so calmly she had passed away in her sleep. She had been on a battle with Asthma since a few years back and her regular stroll in the garden had only worsened it. The doctor said, her love for the wind had killed her but my family knew it was a different love.

 That same day, peach tree bore the first flower of the season. Jasmines and Roses were imparting their sweet concoction in the soft wind. The garden appearing majestic as ever welcomed the arrival of spring.