HEART and ATTACK
A micro essay
I was thirteen. That morning, my mother called her best friend to wish her Happy Diwali.
Her daughter, Piyu, my friend, also thirteen, picked up, and was crying.
I saw my mother’s face warp from cheer to shock in seconds.
“Baba was taking a bath. He fell down. They took him to the hospital,” Piyu cried.
I hovered around my mother with my mouth open as she made the next few phone calls.
Piyu’s father, a lovely father with a thick moustache, was dead.
After gardening, he went for a bath, and bam! His young, healthy heart decided to shut shop.
My parents packed their bags and rushed to support their friend.
I was alone in the house. With the two words HEART and ATTACK.
I could not focus on my favourite TV show. My chest was heaving down and heating up.
I was so fond of Piyu. I could not imagine being in her place. Seeing my father naked, horizontal, gone.
I thought I pressed it down that day, that indigestible dread of having two mortal beings as my parents.
But it was only born that day.
My heart scribbled the word Death, and clenched its fist around it.
Here I am, writing thousands of words each year, to practice opening my palms.
How does this micro essay resonate with you?
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So deftly you have captured how the little, partial information we are told as children (to protect us, perhaps) can often become a strangely violent gateway into some of our biggest lifelong epiphanies.
I still remember the moment I became aware of my own parents' mortality -- sitting in their living room, clutching my crying toddler -- all of us were merely down with viral fever, but for those few seconds it felt as if all of them (my child included) were going to die some day and I would have to continue living - without them - forever. It's funny how becoming aware of loved one's mortality makes you temporarily forget your own.
Raju, the image of the closed fist on hearing the news and now opening the palms through writing is something I could resonate with completely! There was great power in the single sentences, each telling a tale as the essay progressed. Thank you for this piece!