Chapter 2

 I was just a child, sitting at the corner of the room, my fingers tracing the numbers on my math notebook. The questions seemed endless, but I was determined to solve them all. Then, a sudden knock came at the door — sharp and urgent.

It was the office staff, a familiar face but with eyes heavy with worry. “Your father is not keeping well,” he said softly. “You must come, now.”

I dropped my pencil and hurried after them, my heart pounding without knowing why. No one spoke much on the way, but I could sense the weight of something terrible.

My father had suffered a massive stroke. Just a few months before, he had survived a heart attack — a fragile thread holding him to life. After that, I found myself watching him constantly, anxious for any sign of trouble.

But after the stroke, the watching stopped. There was no more anxiety. Only silence.

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Poem by Amita Joshi (in the voice of Arundhati Singh)

Was it you who I lost that fateful day

Or was it a part of me gone forever...

Did you hold my hand very light

Or am I still holding you too tight....

Is it you who I miss the most

Or is it my happiness that is forever lost...

In my silent prayers am I calling you

Or shorter is the distance to meet is falling too..

Should I be angry that your departure created a fuss

Should I be thankful at least for awhile that your shadow fell upon us.

On that day did my happiness just perish

or was that the very day when I was done with collecting the moments to cherish ...

Have I survived without you for so many days

Or just to meet you back I am whiling this forever in many ways...

My questions seek all the answers in vain.

Hope to get them from you when we meet again......

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Tara’s Reflection

Reading those words, Tara felt a stillness settle in the room. She had heard stories about Arundhati Ma’am — strong, distant, unyielding. But this poem, this fragile outpouring of love and loss, revealed something tender, raw, human.

Tara thought about her own fears and the silent prayers she whispered when her own family faced hardship. She understood now that grief doesn’t always shout; sometimes it lives quietly in the spaces between memories, in the unanswered questions that linger.

Closing the diary softly, Tara knew this was not just a collection of poems. It was a journey through a life — a life full of light and shadow, struggle and grace.

And she was ready to walk alongside Arundhati, one page at a time.