The Last Journey

The mobile rang while Stefani was on her first dream. She ignored it. Ever since she asked her mason to get her a new connection and realized to her dismay that he’d given her instead one used by his daughter, Stefani was swamped with calls.

“Supriya,” they’d say, after waking her up at 4 AM. Stefani would grind her teeth and not answer, afraid if she did, a litany of unholy vocabulary might fly out.

“This is Banupriya,” she’d say angrily and disconnect. But they would persist until Stefani switched off her mobile and snuggled into her pillow cursing her mason.

“Steff!” her brother said somewhat impatiently when she picked up his call on its last ring. Stefani glanced at her timepiece. At least he waited until 5 AM. “I can’t believe you’re still sleeping!”

“What else should I be doing at this part of the morning, dancing?” she snapped, and then realized that there must be something on his mind to disturb her so early. “What’s wrong?” she asked, slightly worried now as she tried to focus on the conversation. The last she heard from him was when his relative from his wife’s side was ill.

“He’s gone. The body will be at home. Come when you can.” The final bit was added with resignation. Stefani’s family was well aware that her house was on eternal renovation. With an architect for a husband who thought in millimeters, working with people who calculated in inches wasn’t an easy task. Stefani was their unpaid translator.

“Eric, wait! I thought he was getting better?”
“That’s what the docs said. In reality, he was leaving us. Be there. I have to go.”

Stefani stared at the mobile unable to sleep, thoughts of that relative kept haunting her. The last she’d seen him was twelve years ago. She remembered going to his place along with a girl-friend for dinner. He had a handsome son whom he made sure didn’t get anywhere near Stefani.

Stefani smiled. How misunderstood she was. Just because she dressed hip and fought calories, it didn’t mean she was into poaching.

“It is not how much you earn.” He told her one day as he lowered his newspaper, his spectacles sliding down the bridge of his nose. “It is how much you save.”

What good advice that was even if she didn’t take it.

Stefani felt somewhat melancholic as she turned her tear-wet gaze to her husband lying beside her. “Would you come with me?”

One sleepy golden eye examined her distress. “If you want me to . . .”

“But you don’t like funerals?”

“I’ll do it for you.”

Stefani shook her head. She’d feel guilty dragging him to the funeral, particularly, when he didn’t know the person.

No, she’ll have to go for it alone.

The atmosphere felt heavy like any funeral house. Stefani’s gaze shifted around the place searching for the immediate family. Times had changed. No more were there blocks of ice placed under the bench where the body was laid. She missed the smell of eau de cologne, so strong, that you’d feel like a corpse yourself after attending the funeral. She missed the overflow of candle wax that would spread on the chair and drop to the floor causing a hard pool by their feet. She missed those aunties who would crowd around the body beating their breast and listing innumerable good qualities of that dead soul, qualities that poor man would have never guessed he possessed. What a pity, we wait for the person to die before realizing how wonderful he is.

Stefani strolled towards the widow somewhere hidden in that crowd of mourners. A quiet dignified lady was wrapped in a sari sitting silently at the foot of the body. She’d never left her husband’s side while he was alive, and it seemed like she wasn’t going to leave his side even at his death.

Stefani’s arm crawled around her shoulders and held her securely. Her shoulders began to tremble and tear after tear chased down her cheeks and splashed onto her sari.
“What will I do? Where will I be?” She didn’t need to say the words; it was there in her eyes: the doubt, the fear, the panic.

“Your children are there for you. They will not abandon you.” Even as Stefani said the words she hoped she was right because in this day and age one could never say.

“Uncle used to always talk about you.”

Stefani couldn’t hide her astonishment. That was news to her. From the corner of her eyes she noticed that the lady’s daughter-in-law was making her way towards them.

“Where’s your husband?” She asked Stefani, running a critical eye on Stefani’s attire. She was a stylish-looking girl of Stefani’s age and her husband sat across the hall comforting his sisters.

He still had his looks, she thought, and smiled suddenly as she noticed the slight potbelly camouflaged under the loose tee.
“My husband does not attend funerals, marriages, christenings . . .” Stefani began apologetically, feeling some necessity to explain his absence.

“I didn’t ask why your husband didn’t come, I asked where he was.”

Ouch! What was that about? She looked around her hoping no one was listening. Unfortunately, every weeping eye was on them. “He’s at home.” She said quietly, excusing herself and leaving the tension-ridden atmosphere. Her brother smiled in approval.

“Do you know Aunt Bonita is admitted in hospital?” He whispered.

Stefani’s heart sank. Did that mean another journey was in preparation?