Ria pulls the flying white dupatta to my hair and tilts my smudged forehead to her shoulder. Neel clutches my bare wrists as if detecting a pulse. My strong children.
The smell of ghee, incense, and flesh wafts over Brahmins’ chants, bowed heads and the retiring sun. Orange flames rise in a chorus to consume him. The ashes fall lightly on me.
A decade of hospital benches and blood donation appeals ends.
The bottle wins. Resign. Life is the new adversary.
Been through this ritual. As a son, it's the worst thing you could do (go through with it). Very powerful writing. Cheers, Varad (L.E.R.T)
Thanks for reading Varad. I have to go back top read your piece.
The bottle wins…. so poignantly put.
http://ideasolsi65.blogspot.in/2017/07/ashes-and-memories.html
This sounds frightening. Beautifully told, though!
Yes its a harrowing experience as I've heard.
"The decade of hospital benches and blood donation appeals ends" This conveys a slight relief along with the obvious grief. Love it when writing does that, convey multiple emotions at once. Very well done!
Thanks for visiting Hema!
I have to agree with Hema above! That line was perfection.