My first release
The tenderness of her touch was not soft as it’s used to be, but, I could feel her love and care when she folded her hands over mine and through her gracious eyes I could sense what she wants to speak. She tried to get up a little with all the needles stitched and tube of her oxygen which they called cannula, but I told her to rest and leaned more to kiss her forehead.
I remember the nights when mom used to come to my room give goodnight kiss and say “don’t miss to visit her wonderland, she will be waiting”.
But it’s been three months since the doctor declared that she has cancer.
Though she had problems from around a year but she didn't listen anybody and didn't go to the hospital for check-up. But on July 13, when she lost her balance and fell off because of her weakness and disease, father finally notices and admitted her into hospital. After two months when doctor said that you were late we can’t help you now, she might live one or two months.
Mom kept smiling when father and i were worried after hearing those words from doctor & said “I don’t want to be in this hospital anymore I’m missing my sweet home”. Though after few days she couldn't get up of her bed by her own and do her daily stuffs. Surrounded by the medical accessories and the disgusted smell of those medicines and the stinking body, she was discouraged and demoralized by her heart but she never showed that thing own her face.
Day by day her condition was getting worst but today when I went to her room to tell her about my book release program, I could see the spark in her eyes because this dream we dreamt together and it would have never happened in real if she wasn't there to support me, help me, listen me and encourage me when I knew nothing about writing a story or a poem.
Those carvings lips were the symbol of success of our dream and all those nights when she woke up with me just to check if I needed something. For me, watching her everlasting smile was like the biggest celebration of everything I am.
While looking into her eyes I tried to relate her deep thought and the reason why she was smiling she must be thinking about that girl who questioned about the every stories about the ferried and princess waiting for her charming prince and even the turtle and rabbit race, that, why they are supposed to like this and why can’t they have different ending. With all ifs, buts and why that little girl has grown up and know she also have many stories in her own way, so that some other little girl like her would question her mother the same questions.
Our silent talks were disturbed when father knocked the door and said “you don’t want to be late in your first release program”. Though I wanted to spend a little more time just being with mother but i know that her mother would be happy if I go there and feel what it’s feels like to be there and tell her every detail when she come back.
September showers came hopping once again, repeatedly tapping on the window’s pane of our car. The droplets rolled down like a train of pearls & the gusty wind did make them swirl & twirl. With the pitter-patter rhythm of downpour the nature was also celebrating my success, singing & dancing around me. The rain ruffled the shrubs & leaves and the blustery wind howled alongside the eaves. Passing over the bridge the cool breeze sends shivers to the tips of my toes & the flute’s melody spilling all around.
I remember, it was my fifth birthday & mom gave me a story book as a gift, that time I didn’t even know much about reading & I was not happy with the gift. But when after supper she came to my room & read one of story from that book & I keep wondering about the end.
‘Why can’t that boy stay with his mother forever?’ I questioned.
‘Because this is the story’s end’ mom said.
‘But it could have ended the other way.’
‘Yes, it could be, but not in this story, you can change the end of your stories, not others.’
That day I decided to write my own story & next day I wrote down the same story in my notebook with the end I want. Then I showed it to mom. My mom praised me & said for the celebration of first story we’ll make the chocolate cookies, my favorite.
While I was enjoying the glimpse from the past, dad told me that few more minutes & we’ll be there. I wished mom could have come.
Organizers have already instructed about many things like what to wear, how the program is schedule & they also gave me a script about what to speak but I didn't even look over it. This day was supposed to mine & I will never speak words written by some unknown.
Finally we reached there & everything happened the same way the supervisor told us. I never expect that much people but there were many types & ages present.
After few words from an old man, I just met a few minutes before, who looked experienced & sort of person who will read any book for pleasure. He asked me to come to stage, say few word & also to read one of the chapters from my novel for the readers present.
A few brief words about my novels & thanks to the editors, publishers & all the people present here & special thanks to my mother who was not there. I opened my novel smell it, because nothing is more refreshing than the smell of a new book.
I heard few chuckles & murmurings, but I started with part my mom loved the most.
“…..though she couldn't stop that tear in her eye, sliding down her cheek & she didn't even bother to swipe it away.”
With those lines I closed the novel. After a pause and awkward silence, they clapped but with some uncertainty. But soon they figure out that I am done reading my story and the claps begin more rhythmic and continuous & few of them bother to stand-up. I was still confused did they really like my story or it’s the formality they are doing because after this they will get dinner for free and a signed copy from an emerging writer who might get famous in near future. Also when they will wake up tomorrow searching for the news about this event might find a 6x4 black & white photo (in which not even my face will be visible clearly) with a little article on the 2nd or 3rd page of the newspaper about the success of the event.
With jumbled smile and mixed expression I looked towards my father who seemed a little satisfied with his daughter’s performance, though he always wished she had been a boy.