Forgotten:

 

Title: Forgotten.

:

Whenever I remember, pearls of tears shimmer in my eyes.

A few days before his demise, my father was brought to Dadi Amma's room, semi-conscious, as cancer had consumed him. At that moment, he was in a state of half-consciousness, lifted and brought in.

I saw his body, reduced to less than a third of its original self. Cancer and chemotherapy had devoured the rest.

Reaching out, I searched for my mother's lap and laid my head there.

For some reason, it felt like I had become a child again.

When my elder brother said, "Abu, let me take you to your room," I restrained him, repeatedly saying, "Wait, stop, hold on." When my brother insisted, an incoherent utterance escaped my mouth, "Amma... Amma," as if I were calling out to my mother for help.

I wanted no one to take him away from there. Perhaps, in the final moments of my life, I wished to share them with my mother.

Dadi Amma's condition was such that she couldn't bear to see him in pain, desperately trying to find her son's face to kiss him.

On that day, I learned why, in times of agony and sorrow, an incoherent call for mother emerges.

(The End)