“Forward, Backward, Swish, Swish, Left and Right”  I lie there watching the orange curtains move with the wind. I lie there all alone watching the motion. They are my personal butterflies. Orange butterflies. Orange like the drinks kids these days seem to drink. They sure had a name for it. A name I cannot recall.

I cannot remember what day or year it is. I don’t remember how old I am. I overheard my daughter, Madhu or was it Geeta telling Neeta, my nurse that I was around 95. Is that a big number? I don’t recall. I don’t remember much these days. But I remember rather vividly the pain of childbirth – not once but 9 times over. I remember the pain of losing a child – not once but 3 times over. I remember the sorrow of selling my wedding finery – a piece at a time, a much adored piece of gold to buy food to feed the family. The family cursed with bad luck.

I am not sure if the luck changed. I hope it did. I don’t know who pays the nurse who sits with me most days. I don’t know where the food Neeta forces me to eat comes from. I don’t want to eat most of the time. I don’t taste much these days. I vaguely recall the sweetness of ripe mangoes and the tartness of the gooseberries the boys seemed to have in their pockets during summers of the past. But these moments are like the shadows the curtains throw on the floor. Vague patterns and memories that shift shape with the wind.

I don’t do much these days. In fact I don’t want to do much of anything.  “Time for a walk”, my nurse (what was her name again?) calls out with cheerfulness that I envy. I hate the walk around the house. It exhausts me. It drains me. I don’t want to walk but I obediently attempt to hold the walker and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Where have all the years gone I wonder.

I don’t know how many grandkids I have. I don’t know my great grandkids. I sure must have many. Life and procreation go on. The other day, Neeta mentioned that my granddaughter and her kid were visiting us. I asked her to buy some candy – the kind that comes in orange and yellow crescents. The ones you can suck on for hours. The ones my children used to beg for. I usually got it as a treat for their good behaviour. I hope she brought them.  Did my granddaughter come? I don’t remember anyone visiting me. I must remember to ask Neeta why they couldn’t make it.

I watch them – those orange curtains. They flirt with the shadows, dancing away merrily. They have no questions to answer or ponder. They watch people walk in, share secrets and tears. I believe they talk to me. We are alike. Moving yet restricted. Hiding secrets and shading rooms for aeons that we no longer remember what we are hiding or sharing.

“Oh amma! Priya did come with her little one. Remember the little one was enchanted by the photos on the wall and she was asking us to tell stories from my childhood. You even shared the story about how I broke my leg trying to scale the walls in our old house” Madhu , my youngest daughter replies.

I could feel the pressure within me. I try valiantly to conjure the face of Priya and the little one. I draw a blank. I can feel panic flood through me. “Is this the end?” I wonder. “Please let this be the end”. I feel Madhu’s hands on mine, soothing me as she whispers “It is ok amma. It is ok. They gave you their love.” “The candies – orange and yellow. To suck on. Did you give them? Did you feed them well? What dessert did you make?” questions tumble out of my mouth. I don’t know where they came from.

Suddenly I have this urge to lie down. I don’t want answers for the questions I asked. I cannot look at the emptiness within me and around me. The walls filled with photos of strangers who seem to laugh and jeer at me. I turn away from the walls towards my butterflies. My orange butterflies. Throwing patterns. On walls and floors. On floors and walls. Fading in and out. Like my thoughts. I watch them.

“ Forward, Backward, Swish, Swish, Left and Right”

I am attempting to write short scenes for the April A to Z challenge. I randomly select words and write something around it. It has not been an easy attempt but I plan to try and challenge myself. Please throw some words at me. I to Z are open. I will dedicate the story to you (if ever I come up with one) and don’t forget to wish me luck. I need them in truckloads.

This post is a part of the April A to Z challenge. 26 days, 26 letters and 26 short stories. Come back tomorrow for more.