It was all good and happening. We were all enjoying our favourite movie after dinner. The main door firmly locked, just in case if a thief would try to rob our house despite Ramsingh guarding our apartment every night. We’d rarely sit like this, the whole family, four of us together. Paa’s working hours used to change regularly and Maa’s kitty parties and parlour business kept her busy all day long. So it was always the two of us, my brother and me, who got along as something you can call a family. By the end of the movie, we had my favourite ice cream and then at around 12:30, we went to sleep. It was hard for me to understand if I was dreaming or if it was real when Maa shook me hard to wake me up, because my brother, aged 26 was suffering from severe chest pain. We went quickly to the nearest hospital but to no avail, my brother passed away in the ambulance because of a heart attack.

To my parents, they had lost someone they’d have reached out to as their first support when they’d have grown old and to me, I had lost someone whom I had always looked up to.

Even as he laid on his deathbed, he looked as handsome as ever, bright as the sun with a beaming smile for which all girls could fall easily.

The three of us sit together. I feel as if one leg of a firm, beautiful armchair has been cut off and the armchair is asked to stand normal. The main door is locked as usual. Maa is sitting with old albums, showing Paa each and every picture of Bhai. Spring is approaching and strong winds are blowing outside, bidding farewell to winter. Winds so strong that they occasionally shake the doors of our balconies and seldom give a mild tremor to our main door as if all those winds want to rush inside our home.

Irritated by this constant disturbance, my mom asks to shut all the doors tightly to which I wonder, what if this is him?
What if this is Bhai, trying to get inside our home again and this is just his own way of homecoming?

-Purvang J.

Purvang Joshi

The author Purvang Joshi

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