44

WHEREVER YOU ARE

As I write to you now, Rukku, I travel. Back.

I feel the rain on our backs as you crouch on the road, trying to save worms.

I hear you humming to Kutti, holding him close in your comforting arms as a firework explodes on Divali night.

I see your proud smile as you hand the balloon vendor your very own money at the beach.

I see your tongue between your teeth as you concentrate on finishing a bead necklace.

I see your fingertips as you hold the orange the gardener threw at us.

I see you fling your beloved doll at the driver to defend me from danger.

I hear you and Muthu belly laughing together on our bridge.

Your laugh was so strong. So strong it makes me smile, even now, just remembering.

Writing is an odd thing. Writing today, in this book, I realize I sometimes saw things the wrong way around when they were happening.

All this while, I thought I’d looked after you, but now I see it was often the opposite.

You gave me strength.

By never letting me get away with a lie.

By showing me small miracles.

By laughing at all the wrong times.

Together we were such a good team.

And now I’ll keep trying, Rukku. To carry your laughter with me and march forward.

To love you but live in today, not in yesterday.

Moving ahead doesn’t mean leaving you behind. I finally understand that.

And I guess how you live matters more than how long you live. Every happy moment we had, every bit of love we shared, still glows. We’re together in my heart and always will be.

So I’m living with my whole heart, Rukku. And imagining with my whole mind.

Imagining Lalitha, my new friend, all grown up, living on her own, laughing away with Arul and Muthu. Imagining me, all grown up, too, a teacher at last. Imagining you drinking cold, bubbly soda in a nice, fancy palace and burping louder than Muthu ever could.

Imagining you can hear me say, I love you, Rukku.

Imagining so hard, I can almost feel you patting me again, see you beaming, hear you saying, Rukku loves Viji, right back.