They say time heals. But does it really? Or do we simply learn to live with the absence of someone who was once such a beautiful part of our everyday lives?
A year without you, Soumya.
And what a year it has been.
A year of zero communication – our chats were like therapy to me.
October came and went, bringing two very special milestones. Krish turned 18, and Manoj and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary.
There was love, laughter, celebration and happiness. Yet, somewhere in the middle of it all, something was missing.
It was a year with one wish less.
And that one missing wish was impossible to ignore.
Because if there was one person who would have been more excited about these celebrations than I was, it would have been YOU!
By the time October had barely begun, my phone would have been buzzing.
“Kamini, kya khareeda?”
“Krish ko kya gift kar rahi hai?”
“Kahaan jaa rahe ho?”
“Kya plan hai?”
And before I could answer one question, another five would have followed!
Of course, every conversation would begin with your trademark “Kamini!” And depending on the intensity of your affection, the vocabulary would graduate to something I most certainly cannot mention here!
That was you, Soumya. Unfiltered, affectionate, endlessly curious and genuinely excited about every little happiness in our lives.
And then there were your birthday and anniversary wishes.
Every year, you would somehow manage to surprise us with a photograph we had probably never seen before. An unguarded smile, a silly expression or a candid moment we didn’t even know had been captured.
I am quite sure Deepu was the photographer behind many of those masterpieces!
It isn’t easy to surprise someone year after year, but you always managed to. You noticed the little things and preserved moments the rest of us overlooked.
And how can I ever forget that laughter of yours?
That loud, spontaneous, absolutely contagious laughter!
The kind that made everyone around you laugh, sometimes without even knowing what was so funny in the first place.
You didn’t just laugh. You made laughter an experience!
Even today, I can almost hear it. That unmistakable laugh that could brighten a room and turn the most ordinary conversation into a memory.
And then there are our emails.
Oh, those emails!
Long before WhatsApp became a part of our lives, we had our own little world tucked away in our inboxes.
We wrote to each other almost every single day.
About everything and absolutely nothing.
Our families, the happenings of the day, little frustrations, silly observations and conversations that probably made sense only to the two of us.
Sometimes, I find myself going back and reading them.
There are so many of them!
I smile at some, laugh at others, and occasionally find myself staring at the screen a little longer.
Because those emails are no longer just conversations.
They are pieces of you that time cannot take away from me.
Your words are still there. Your humour is still there. And for those few moments, it almost feels like we are having one of our old conversations again.
Who would have imagined that those everyday emails would one day become something I would treasure so dearly?
But Soumya, along with the memories comes something else.
A feeling that is difficult to explain.
We feel cheated, my friend.
You had taken on a responsibility in our children’s lives. Something that meant so much to us. And just when the time for it to become a reality was approaching, you left us.
The timing of it all still hurts.
You were supposed to be here to see it happen. To celebrate it. To be part of something you had so lovingly taken upon yourself.
And then there was our meeting.
We were supposed to meet soon.
You were supposed to come to Dubai.
We had plans, dost!
We were supposed to sit together, eat chaat, talk endlessly and giggle to glory, just like we always did.
I can almost picture us laughing over something completely ridiculous, with you throwing in a “Kamini” every few minutes!
But you cheated me, dost.
You left before we could make those plans happen.
And this is where the regret creeps in.
So many times, Manoj and I have spoken about how we didn’t visit you that year.
Why did we delay it?
What was so important that we couldn’t make that trip?
We kept thinking there would be another opportunity, another holiday, another time.
But life doesn’t always give us another time, does it?
If there is one thing your passing has taught me, it is this:
Everything else can wait. If your heart tells you to visit someone, make that visit a priority.
Don’t postpone people.
Don’t keep meaningful moments for another day.
Because sometimes, that another day never comes.
But Soumya, did you really have to teach me this lesson in such a hard way?
How do I even rectify my mistake now?
I cannot turn back the clock. I cannot make that visit happen. I cannot sit across from you and tell you all the things I thought I had plenty of time to say.
And perhaps that is what hurts the most.
Not just losing someone you love, but realising that there are moments you can never get back.
Life goes on, of course. It has to.
But we miss you in the smallest moments, from our morning tea to the end of the day.
Sometimes, something reminds us of you, and before we know it, we are talking about you again.
And Krish, whenever your name comes up, simply looks up and says,
“Miss you, Soumya Aunty.”
Four words that say everything.
Because you weren’t just my friend. You had become a part of our family, our children’s growing-up years and the countless little moments that made up our lives.
And Soumya, let me tell you something.
When I put together the memory video for Krish’s 18th birthday, you were very much a part of it.
How could you not be?
It was a journey through 18 years of his life, and that journey would never have been complete without you.
You may not have been there to celebrate the milestone with us, but there was no way I was letting you miss being part of it.
And somewhere in my heart, I know you are still watching over the kids, cheering them on and showering them with your blessings.
Of course, I can almost hear you dismissing my emotional speech in your typical style!
“Woh toh hamesha unke saath hai! Yeh bhi koi kehne ki baat hai?”
And then that unmistakable laughter!
You may have missed being there for his 18th birthday, dost, but you will never be missing from the story of his life.
And Soumya, don’t worry.
We’ve got Deepu.
We talk to him, chat with him, share little things, and somehow, those conversations make the pain a little easier to bear.
There is comfort in knowing that we still have that connection to you.
Sometimes, talking to him feels like keeping a little part of our world with you alive.
One whole year since you left.
A year that has taught us that life continues, celebrations happen, milestones arrive and the world carries on.
But some absences never become ordinary.
You had this beautiful way of stealing moments and turning them into memories.
You stole laughter from people who weren’t even planning to smile.
And without any of us realising it, you stole our hearts.
From stealing moments to stealing our hearts… and then, one day, life stole you from us.
I wish I could hear your voice again.
I wish I could open my phone and find a message beginning with “Kamini!”
And more than anything, I wish we had made that visit.
There is so much I would give for one more afternoon with you.
Just us, some chaat, endless gossip and laughter that would leave our stomachs hurting.
Nothing extraordinary.
Just the ordinary moments that, in hindsight, were everything.
This October, there was one wish less.
But not one bit less love.
You are still part of our conversations, our celebrations, our memories and the quiet moments in between.
And I know that no matter how many years pass, there will always be a little part of me waiting for that phone call, that surprise photograph or that familiar laugh.
You know what hurts, Soumya?
We had so many plans for when we would meet again.
I just never imagined that one day, all I would have left was the word if.
If we had visited.
If you had come to Dubai.
If we had just one more day.
And just for the record, Kamini…
You were supposed to be here.
You really were, Soumya. ❤️
Forever missed. Forever loved.
