letter one

 

Letter 1: The Call That Shook My World

Date: April 2021
From: Bangalore
To: Maa, Yamuna Nagar

Dear Maa,

That phone call still echoes in my ears.

It was during those horrible days of COVID—when every breath felt borrowed, and fear lived in every household. I remember sitting in our small flat in Bangalore, six months into my marriage, with Tejas by my side. We had just begun settling into a new life when the world began to fall apart again. And then your voice came through the phone—shaky, breathless, and broken.

You told me you were COVID positive.

I felt the ground slip beneath me.

Then you said Papa was positive too. Both of you had low oxygen. The panic in your voice was quiet, like you were trying to be strong for me. But Maa, I could feel your fear. You told me you were staying at Renu Didi’s house because Papa was so unwell, and the trains were shut, the country was frozen, and I was trapped miles away.

Maa, I broke down.

That second wave was brutal. People were dying outside hospitals. Oxygen cylinders were black-marketed, ambulances were carrying more death than life, and even the doctors were getting infected. I sat in the living room crying, blaming myself for being so far, wishing I could just fly to Yamuna Nagar and take care of you, rub your back, hold your hand, and feed you warm soup. But I was helpless. Completely and utterly helpless.

I wanted to scream, "I want my Maa!" But I was 40, married, and expected to act brave. But inside, I was your little girl again, scared of losing you.

You chose to stay at Renu Didi’s house. I never said anything, but it hurt. A part of me was angry — not at you, but at the situation, at the world, at the timing. Maybe also a little at Didi. I don’t know. All I knew was that my mother was sick, and I couldn’t reach her.

I prayed every night for your breath to stay steady, for Papa’s lungs to survive, for Didi’s house to be safe. I kept checking the news, tracking oxygen availability in Haryana like it was a lifeline. Every time the phone rang, I feared the worst.

But you fought, Maa. You fought through it.

And somehow, even in your breathlessness, you made sure your voice told me: "I’m okay beta, don’t worry."

I wasn’t okay. But you were.

I love you for that.

Always yours,
Your younger daughter
(The one who still feels like a child without your hug)

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