When Silence Speaks

 

The Jog family resided in a plush apartment in Pune's Koregaon Park. Chhaya Jog, the matriarch of the family, was just finishing her morning puja when she heard a commotion at the door.

 

"Tai! Tai!" came a frantic voice.

 

Chhaya rushed to the entrance, where she found Sakubai, their maid, in tears. "Kay zhala, Saku?" she asked, concern etched on her face.

 

Between sobs, Sakubai explained that her son had been in an accident and needed immediate surgery. Without hesitation, Chhaya called her husband, Sadashiv.

 

"Sadu, please transfer fifty thousand rupees to Sakubai's account immediately. It's an emergency."

 

Turning to Sakubai, she said softly, "Saku, ja lawakar. mulaacha kaaljee ghe. kaahi laagla tar call kar ( go immediately, be with your son, call me if you need anything more)..."

 

As Sakubai left, showering blessings on Chhaya, Avantika, Chhaya's 23-year-old daughter, emerged from her room.

"Aai, you're always helping someone or the other," she said, admiration clear in her voice. Avantika, her first born had a deep bond with her, they never seemed like a mother-daughter duo, Chhaya never looked her age.

 

Chhaya smiled, "Aavu, helping others is what gives life meaning."

 

Just then, Chhaya's mother-in-law, called out from her room. "Chhaya! Majhi aushadh!(My meds)"

 

"Yete, Aai!" Chhaya responded, hurrying to tend to her mother-in-law's needs.

 

Avantika watched as her mother patiently helped Ajji with her medications, explaining each pill's purpose. Despite the older woman's occasional grumbling, Chhaya's patience never wavered.

 

Later that evening, as Chhaya watered the plants on their balcony, she noticed Ranjit kaka, the society's security guard, looking distressed.

 

"Kaka, kay zhala?(Uncle, What happened)" she called out.

 

Ranjit kaka hesitated before sharing that his daughter's wedding was approaching, and he was struggling with the expenses.

 

Chhaya's eyes softened. "Kaka, tumchi mulgee aamchich mulgee aahe. Kaaljee karu naka. Mi bolte Sadashiv sobat.( Dont Worry,I will talk to Sadashiv, will arrange )"

 

The next day, Chhaya invited her close friends from the society - Revati and Manjusha - for chai. As they sat in the living room, Chhaya's 19-year-old son, Adwait, stumbled in, looking haggard.

 

"Adu! Kay zhala?" Chhaya exclaimed.

 

"Nothing, Aai. Just stressed about exams," Adwait mumbled.

 

Chhaya immediately excused herself from her friends and spent the next hour comforting Adwait, making him his favorite ukdiche modak and offering words of encouragement.

 

Revati watched this interaction with a mix of admiration and envy. "Chhaya, tu khupach lucky aahes. Perfect family, perfect life."

 

Chhaya smiled at her but she was still checking on Adwait as he was going back to his room.

 

As the days passed, Chhaya prepared for her annual Vipassana retreat in Igatpuri. The night before her departure, the family gathered for dinner. It was always difficult for the family to understand how a hand's down homemaker can cutoff for 10 days and function for it was unimaginable for them.

 

Sadashiv, looking up from his laptop, said, "I wonder always, how can people do nothing but just stare and meditate, mala ajibaat jamnaar nahi"

 

Everyone had a hearty laugh looking at Sadashiv.

 

Avantika chimed in, "Aai, you deserve this break. You're always taking care of everyone else."

 

Adwait nodded in agreement, his mouth full of puran poli.

 

The next morning, as Chhaya left, each family member hugged her tightly. Ajji, usually reticent with her emotions, held Chhaya's hand and said, "Lawakar ye."

 

Three days into Chhaya's retreat, the Jog household though missing her, were engaged with their usual activities. Avantika was helping Ajji with her dinner when her phone rang. The caller ID displayed a name she hadn't seen in years: Soham Parchure.

 

"Soham?" Avantika answered, surprise evident in her voice. "It's been so long! How are you?"

 

"Avantika! Yes, it has been a while," Soham replied, his tone a mix of warmth and hesitation. "I'm doing well. I heard you completed your MBA. Congratulations!"

 

"Thanks, Soham. Yes, I did. And you? Last I heard, you had joined the police force."

 

"That's right. I'm an Inspector now, posted in Igatpuri," Soham paused, his voice growing serious. "Avantika, I... I'm actually calling about something important. Are you sitting down?"

 

Avantika's heart skipped a beat. "Soham, what's going on? You're scaring me."

 

Soham took a deep breath. "Avantika, there's been an accident. Your mother... Mrs. Jog... she's been admitted to Igatpuri General Hospital. It's serious. You and your family should come immediately."

 

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Avantika gripped the phone tightly, her knuckles turning white. "What? How? Soham, tell me everything!"

 

"I think it's better if we talk in person, Avantika. Please, come to Igatpuri as soon as you can. I'll meet you at the hospital."

 

In a daze, Avantika informed her family. Within minutes, they were in the car, speeding towards Igatpuri, their hearts pounding with fear and uncertainty.

 

At the hospital, Soham met them at the entrance. His face was grave as he led them to a private waiting area. The doctor had just finished briefing them on Chhaya's critical condition when Soham gently pulled Avantika aside.

 

"Avantika, there's something else you need to know," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "When I found your mother's phone at the accident site,  saw she had last dialed a contact named 'Aavu'. I didn't realize it was you until I dialed the number from  my phone and your name showed up. It was... unexpected."

 

Avantika nodded, remembering the childhood nickname her mother still used for her.

 

Soham continued, his voice low and gentle. "There's more, Avantika. And it's... difficult. Your mother wasn't alone in the car. There was a man with her, around 45 years old. He... he didn't survive the crash. They were both staying in a nearby hotel since last three days, his whereabouts are being investigated. The Hotel staff said they were among their regular guests there" Soham was very careful in coining his words.

 

Avantika felt the ground slip away beneath her feet. She stared at Soham, unable to process his words.

 

Seeing her shock, Soham who knew that she or anyone in their family was totally unaware about this, quickly added, "I understand this is a lot to take in. I haven't mentioned this to anyone else yet. I thought... I thought you should be the first to know, given our history."

 

Avantika nodded numbly, grateful for Soham's discretion and sensitivity.

 

"Take your time," Soham said softly. "I'm here if you need anything. We can discuss how to handle this information when you're ready."

 

As Avantika stumbled back to her family, her mind raced. Her mother, the pillar of their family, the epitome of devotion and sacrifice... had been leading a double life? How could she protect her mother's reputation? How would this affect their family?

 

Standing by Chhaya's bedside, the rhythmic hum of the ventilator seemed to grow louder, drowning out everything else. Dr. Prakash approached; his face etched with concern.

 

"Ms. Jog," he addressed Avantika softly, "I'm afraid your mother's condition isn't improving. The latest scans show minimal brain activity. We need to discuss... how long you want to continue with the ventilator support."

 

The words hit Avantika like a physical blow. She looked at her family, scattered around the sterile ICU room. Her father, Sadashiv, stood rigid in the corner, his face a mask of anger and betrayal. Adwait sat slumped in a chair, tears streaming down his face, a mix of confusion and helplessness evident in his eyes. Ajji wept silently, her wrinkled hands clutching her daughter-in-law's unresponsive fingers.

 

Avantika felt a surge of protectiveness towards her mother. She could see the judgment in her father's eyes, the disbelief in Adwait's. But all she could think of was the woman who had given everything for her family. The same woman who, perhaps, had needs and desires of her own that none of them had ever considered.

 

"She was more than just our mother," Avantika found herself saying, her voice trembling but growing stronger with each word. "She was a woman, an individual. We... we never stopped to think about what she might have needed, what she might have been missing."

 

Sadashiv's head snapped up, his eyes flashing. "How can you defend her? After what she's done?"

 

"Baba," Avantika pleaded, "Aai loved us more than anything. But maybe... maybe she needed something for herself too. We can't judge her entire life based on this one thing we've discovered."

 

Adwait looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. "But Tai, how could she do this to us? To Baba?"

 

Avantika moved to her brother, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Adu, we don't know the whole story. And we may never know. But what we do know is how much Aai loved us, cared for us. That hasn't changed."

 

She turned back to Dr. Prakash, who had been waiting patiently. "Doctor, how... how long does Aai have if we remove the ventilator?"

 

The doctor's eyes filled with sympathy. "It's hard to say with certainty, but given her condition... probably not more than a few hours."

 

Avantika felt her heart breaking, but she knew what she had to do. She looked at each family member in turn, silently asking for their agreement. Sadashiv turned away, unable to meet her gaze. Adwait nodded slightly, tears still flowing. Ajji squeezed Chhaya's hand one last time before letting go.

 

"We'll... we'll remove the ventilator," Avantika said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But we'd like to stay with her until..."

 

Dr. Prakash nodded understandingly. "Of course. I'll make the arrangements."

 

As the medical team prepared to remove the life support, Avantika leaned close to her mother's ear. "Aai," she whispered, "we love you. No matter what. You can rest now."

 

The family gathered around Chhaya's bed, their anger and confusion momentarily set aside in the face of their impending loss. As the ventilator was switched off, the room fell into a deep, heavy silence.

 

In those final moments, as Chhaya's breathing grew shallow and eventually stopped, Avantika made a silent vow. She would honor her mother's memory not just as the perfect wife and mother they had always seen, but as a complex, human woman with dreams and desires of her own. And perhaps, in time, she could help her family understand her more.

 

As Chhaya took her last breath, the Jog family stood united in grief, the first step in a long journey of healing and understanding that lay ahead of them.