Originally posted by: Ashley.Tisdale
So another hypothetical What-If scenario from the night after Shamsher's mother passed away. For the sake of creative liberty, I am changing their sofa to a more comfortable couch, you'll know why 😆
Its short, but I hope you enjoy it ❤️
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The Change
The sun rays were gently grazing my skin, something I did not welcome this morning. My eyes struggled to open, all puffy and, I was sure, red due to all the emotions I went through the night before.
The only thing that made me feel comfort was the unfamiliar weight on me, resting against my chest. My arms cradled the body, opening my legs further apart to accommodate the person…
Oh damn.
My eyes flew open when I realised who it was.
Holding me like his life depended on it, was my husband, Shamsher.
That was when the events of last night came flooding back to me…
‘I must be a horrible person,’ Shamsher said brokenly, his form tremoring due to the immense pain he was feeling. ‘I’m sure I deserve this.’
My throat choked up at the mere thought of what he was going through. His mother and I never had the best relationship, but I knew how much her son meant to her. She made sure to come see us, despite her husband’s strict instructions not to.
Not knowing what else to do, how to relieve him of pain, my hand moved towards his face, gently cradling it in my palm. That seemed to be the breaking point of Shamsher. He broke down, sobbing hysterically. Tears flowed down his cheeks, his sniffles and whimpers getting louder by the second.
A few stray tears spilled from my eyes. I could see his struggles, his pains, although I could not find it in my heart to forgive him. However…to see him in hysterics, in such suffering and agony over something that was not his doing, was making me want to fix it all. Take it all away.
Before I could move my hand away, Shamsher grabbed the back desperately. Clutching it tightly he pressed my palm with more pressure against his cheek. Soon enough, he leaned towards me, resting his head against my shoulder, still crying. My palm was resting on the length of his neck, and I froze.
It was safe to say I detested Shamsher for all the inhumane things he made me and my family go through. But this was not the Shamsher I knew.
This was a child in agony, weeping for his mother, to see her or hold her one last time. His pain was searing through my veins, making my heart and my mind scream at me to do something. The internal instinct to comfort him grew exponentially, and I found my other hand stroking his back, pulling him closer.
Shamsher’s sobs slowed down at the gesture, but he mirrored my actions, wrapping his free arm around my waist.
Realisation dawned upon me. All he wanted was the slightest amount of human contact. Anything that would soothe and reduce the pain. I knew him well enough to know he would have never held me this way under normal circumstances. Shamsher had been horrible, but he never touched me without my consent.
There was a battle growing inside me. On one hand, I did not want his touch on me. The other was telling me to be more compassionate and human than he had ever been to me.
Guess which side won? I closed my eyes, resting my chin on his hair, letting him cry it out, holding his trembling form. His occasional calls of “mumma” made me bit my lip hard, and I let tears flow down my face.
After what seemed like an eternity, we sat next to each other, having changed into our nightwear. Shamsher did not bother with much except take off his shirt and stay in his vest. I sat with my head propped onto my palm, listening to all the anecdotes from his life about Aunty.
How she always would save him from Baba Sahab’s wrath even as a child.
How she always knew what he wanted to eat for every meal.
How she always knew about his girlfriends, the serious ones.
How she always took care of him, no matter how wrong he had been.
‘You know?’ Shamsher slurred, half-asleep.
‘Hmm?’ I asked him, stroking his hair. We had found ourselves on the couch, him lying on my chest, while I ran my hands on his back to comfort him.
‘Maybe if she had punished me a couple of times, I wouldn’t have been such a d**k to you.’
I took in a moment of silence, not knowing how to respond to him, ‘The bottom line is she was your mother and she loved you very, very much. Now c’mon, get some sleep.’
But he was snoring peacefully by the time I completed the sentence. I grinned, shaking my head and propped myself more comfortably on the pillow, closing my eyes. It did not take long for sleep to take over me.
I broke out of my thoughts when Shamsher stirred, groaning slightly. My face flared when he rubbed his nose in my chest, not realising I was not his usual pillow. Before he would do anything else, I quickly quipped, ‘Good Morning!’
It was as if an ice cold bucket had been emptied on his head. Shamsher looked up slowly, his puffy eyes locking into mine. ‘Good Morning,’ he replied, his voice still hoarse. ‘Sorry.’
‘For what? You were sleeping.’
‘On you.’
‘I allowed it.’
He got off me, helping me sit up straight, not looking me in the eye.
I softened, knowing what happened was not his fault, ‘Tea?’
‘Yes please.’ Still not looking at me.
I sighed, ‘Shamsher?’ Grabbing his chin to turn his face towards mine. He finally relented, maybe because I touched him again. ‘Its okay. Okay?’
‘Okay…’
‘Lets have tea, some breakfast and then go to the cemetery. We should pay our respects.’
‘You would do that…for me?’ I saw tears welling in his eyes once again.
Smiling in return, I got up swiftly, hoping it would help him to get distracted momentarily, ‘She was your mother. My mother-in-law. Of course I would do that.’
‘Thank you…’ He squeezed the back of my hand softly, hope filling his being.
‘Go get ready.’
As I made two steaming hot cups of tea and a quick breakfast of fried eggs and roti, I knew the dynamics had changed. Aunty might not be among us anymore, but she for sure did one last thing for her son. As much as I did not want to admit it, there was an unfamiliar emotion rising within me. It was a matter of time before it would take over.
Anupamaa
Cricket
