Day after day poetry after poetry. Every evening between 6 and 7 PM Mountain I would be on a treadmill and would see the peacock leaf load when I hit refresh... it would be a nice juicy looong review in impeccable English
I remember innumerable things about her
How tough the last semester was, what she cooked for her in laws, and how she got her gora roomies to read this tale, how a new tennant moved into her parents basement.
Star student, gorgeous looking, such refined nature, so much maturity, so much kindness, so fun loving... taking things so easily in her stride
Never getting bogged down.
SO UTTERLY CARING... young girls put their parents through the blender when they get married, by being selfish and mean and greedy
Here she was, wanting a simple wedding but a traditional one.
Staying up to talk to Sahil and not even being upset when he cut off after five minutes of Skype
I was hoping to tease the heck out of her after she returned from honeymoon
Her second last email to me was again A POEM about how she scaled a mountain of food her Mom put in front of her, she joked about how cleaning her plate is such an achievement
Maybe the last meal she even ate at home?ðŸ˜
All I need is... for someone to be kind to me and and talk nicely, I can give them everything. Somehow she knew that early on... even if she hated some chapters, she always comes back with a rocking review
I look forward to seeing her every evening like she is my very own.
I am unable to talk about her in past tense... I wont... any time soon
I am not sure WHAT lesson I am expected to learn from this. I thought I was done learningðŸ˜
A daughter like Maanvi is born to one in a million parents. I wont say after penance or tapasya, coz I know all that is sheer BS if prayers work she would have been saved. She is a gem in every sense of the word
How she sat on the "sunny side" on the steps so Manit could sit in the shade while her parents commuted from work. How she loved to cook, the things that kept her up at night, her courage and conviction and maturity in being able to work with cancer patients for her Grad school thesis
One of the many days I teased the "dulhan" she told me... "I am so tired, my stomach muscles literally hurt Nisha... I cannot laugh anymore...
She had sent me her engagement picture, I went back to my PM and looked it up and saw what she would look like with laugh tears filling up her eyes, and her face flushed and breathless
I cannot imagine that fragile young kid suffer so much pain. She probably BELIEVED she was going to be cured, I dont know of a different Maanvi. Her last email said "Between the sounds of drip and the echoes of beeps from the various monitors hooked to me, I wrote this for you"
I have done NOTHING extraordinary in my life. I didnt obtain two Masters at 24, I didnt write poetry,
Its just another immigrant's life... struggling to bridge gaps between India and here and hoping for a routine life
I recognized a tremendous energy, zest for life and warmth in her. I DONT know why... I was able to see it in her.
I cannot explain it... I dont think I am good with words, ya those two words pretty much sum her up.
I responded to her engagement picture by saying
"Tumhe meri taraf se DHER saari badhai aur shubh kaamnayen, sada khush raho, aur tumhe woh saari khushiyan miley jo tum deserve karti ho, aur Mummy Papa ko bhi shehnai ki dher saari badhai"
She said to me "Even in your thoughts why do u sound so sincere Nisha?"
"I just see it in you, its like reflection in a pool" I told her
I am totally unprepared to handle this grief... I stayed up the first three nights in a row when I heard it.
I had invested way more than just writing this story... its no longer about the story... it quit being about the story... 6 months ago
I am weak, insecure, and irrational, I have no courage to deal with pain. I will still hope to see her when I return home and go to the Y at 6.ðŸ˜
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