Falling

(Shh... Just Keep Breathing, It will get better)

I am an atheist human. It is something I get judged for frequently. Some people think I say it to sound cool.

I don't deny the presence of some external superpower, which would have been the start of the universe, but I don't believe in a protector. I don't think someone is out there looking after me. I don't believe in karma. I don't believe in religion. 

No. I wasn't born this way. I come from a very devout family. My father literally used to teach the pandit Ji during a Pooja. I am even named after the goddess Durga, yes Shambhavi is one of her many names. My mother prays every morning. My grandmother won't eat a bite before her morning prayers. Overall it is a religious family. So obviously, I used to be a part of this culture as a kid. I even remembered a few enchantments back then. But I stopped when I was 8 years old. And here's why.

I was tired as hell that day. I remember distinctly begging my van driver to drop me at my block gate, but he refused, and dropped me at the main gate of the society, like always. School is fun. I agree, but carrying all those books and copies in a bag bigger than you in size?  No. Not fun. I cursed the driver under my breath for being so inconsiderate. I was a little girl after all. It was the month of April, in the hot city of Lucknow. I dragged my feet from the society gate towards my block. Got distracted by the Plumeria flowers lying on the road. I had always loved those flowers. They were white in color but were yellowish towards the center. That's what I liked the best about them. The imperfections. Nothing is spotless after all. I bent down and collected the ones lying on the floor. Soon my hands were full, and I couldn't carry anymore. So I continued towards my apartment. 

As I reached the corridor of my block, I realized a lady was sitting there in a plastic chair. I recognized her as my grandmother's best friend. Mala aunty. I smiled at her and greeted her with a namaste. She gave me a weird look back. It was almost pitiful. I didn't quite understand the look. She asked me how my day went, and how I was doing. This was all too confusing, I mean why was she not at our house and sitting here alone? And if she was waiting for me, why? And why was she asking me all these weird questions? I was getting frustrated, I was too tired and it was too hot. She took me to the lift, and we went up quietly. Our apartment is on the first floor, so I very rarely used the lift. What I always found funny was the 'Ding' sound our lift made when we reached our floor, it felt like we were some freshly prepared dish coming out of an oven. As soon as we came out I noticed the number of footwear outside my house. Like in a Pooja. I made to move towards it but Mala aunty didn't take me to our apartment. Instead of turning to the left, we turned right, and she took me to our neighbor's place instead. People were going in and out of their apartment too. What the hell was happening. And then I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. As I knew deep, what might have happened, but I didn't want to think about it. No no no no no no. This wasn't happening. 

And then she came, my mother. Her face was swollen, and her eyes were were red. Her voice was shaky, like when we are trying very hard not to cry. That confirmed it. But I still didn't want to believe it. But it had happened. After staying ill for days, pa had gone. 

One might think after all these years that memory would stop giving me nightmares. But it hasn't. Every time I come home from school, I relive it again. It's scary as hell.  Every day I think, what if I had skipped school that day? I could have been there in his last moments. Every day I recall our last conversation before I left for school,

"Bye pa"

"Bye beta"

Every day I think of his last memory in my head, his crooked silly smile.. while one could still see his dimples.....

And it is still not okey. It is still not complete. Every celebration, every achievement feels incomplete without his presence.  Like there should have been more in my life. And I am jealous of others for having what I don't. And I am angry at them for not valuing it enough. So, the day my father died, I stopped believing in God. I stopped believing in the existence of someone out there who protects us. I stopped believing in prayers coming true. Because I had prayed. I had prayed and begged and wished for not something I had wanted, for something I had needed. 

I don't judge people who do believe in god. Everyone is entitled to their choice. And this is mine. 

So, I don't expect anyone else to make my life better. I know I will have to do it myself. And I don't know how to fill that void yet or stop making it hurt, but believing in the future is all we can do. So I will figure it out eventually. 

Yours truly,

Sammy<3