The Shift
Part 1:
The Unexpected Gift
On a rather gloomy day, under a cloudy sky, stood three men at the corner of an unremarkable road. Two of them were brothers, known in the neighborhood for their contrasting personalities. The elder brother, Abdul, was known to be a miser. He would count his pennies and hesitate before parting with even the smallest amount of money. His younger brother, Aslam, on the other hand, was free-spirited and generous. Their friend, Sameer, was a humble man of modest means.
As they stood there, in an unexpected turn of events, Abdul reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He handed it to Sameer, saying, “Here’s 1200 rupees for you, my friend.”
Sameer’s eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn’t hide his joy. Aslam watched, shocked, not able to believe that his miserly brother would give away such a large sum.
“What brings about this generosity, brother?” Aslam asked, a tone of suspicion in his voice.
Abdul looked at them, a shadow of sadness crossing his face, “It’s Sameer’s mother…she passed away. This money…it’s what she left for him.”
The news hit them like a punch to the stomach. Silence fell among them, a respectful hush for the sadness that they all now shared.
Part 2:
The Gathering of Grief
Slowly, the trio began their journey towards Sameer’s home, their strides heavy with the weight of their sorrow. As they approached, they could see the bustling activity from afar. The street outside was lined with parked cars, and they could see a small crowd gathered, the somber faces reflecting the sorrow of the day.
They stepped inside the house, numbered 555, a humble abode that now held a heavy heart. There was a quiet hum of hushed voices, the air was thick with a mix of sadness, concern, and confusion. People sat around, some with red-rimmed eyes, while others wore strained smiles, a feeble attempt to mask their inner turmoil.
Abdul and Aslam greeted the mourning crowd, their words of condolence offered with a heavy heart. The house was filled with relatives, friends, and acquaintances, all gathered to pay their respects, all reflecting the multifaceted faces of grief.
Sameer, however, stood apart. His heart was heavy with grief, too heavy for words. His mind began to wander, drifting to an imagined conversation with his mother. He saw them walking together on the very same road where his friend had handed him the money earlier. It was as vivid as if it was really happening.
In his mind’s eye, his mother looked at him, her eyes filled with a sad wisdom, and said, “My time is approaching, my son.”
Feeling a pang of fear clutch his heart, he pleaded, “Just two more years, mother. Allow me to prepare…”
Her voice, soft and comforting, echoed in his mind, “No one can ever be ready, son. We can only learn to cope when the time comes.”
Now, standing in the house filled with the reality of her departure, he clung to those imagined words, and began the daunting task of learning to cope.
Part 3:
The Unchanging Cycle
Years passed, and the pain of his mother’s departure turned into a dull ache in Sameer’s heart, a sorrow he had learned to live with. He found himself in a familiar setting once more, in the house of Abdul and Aslam whose mother had just passed away. The air was thick with grief, a mirror of the sorrow he had experienced in his own home years ago.
With profound empathy, Sameer enfolded his friends, Abdul and Aslam, in an earnest embrace, his eyes brimming with tears that dared to overflow. A somber question trembled upon his lips, filling the air around them, “Why, oh why, has this existence been fashioned in such a perplexing way?”
His voice wavered as he continued, “One moment, life vibrates within us, a pulsating rhythm of warm blood coursing through our veins. And in the next, that rhythm abruptly ceases, leaving an echoing silence…just like that, they’re gone.”
His lament was a mournful melody of life’s bitter truth, a sentiment that hung heavily in the room. The quiet nodding of those around him mirrored his desolation, each lost in the echo of his plaintive query, each bearing their own silent sorrows.
Eventually, Sameer found himself sitting on a chair, the hum of the gathering a familiar soundtrack to the melancholic scene. As he sat there, a thought entered his mind. He looked at the chair, then at the table, and then down at his clean white clothes. “This chair is too small,” he thought, “and with how I’m sitting, I’m bound to drop some food on my clothes.”
In small concerns, we find life’s beat,
A rhythm steady, yet so fleet.
From sorrow’s depths to surface light,
In mundane, we regain our sight.
To grieve, to heal, to rise with dawn,
Life’s testament, an ongoing song.
Yet, as we focus on our own,
Shared fragility remains unknown.
In self-centered paths, we often tread,
Forgetting life’s thin, common thread.
Let’s not forget, in daily strive,
The precious, fragile gift of life.
