… time stopped right then and there.

The wall calendar is hanging there on the wall projecting a somewhat anachronistic picture of time.

Around mid December every year, my task list reminds me to make new calendars for India. I usually spend a few hours picking some pictures from that year – mostly of my daughters and a few of Sharmila and myself and then put a hanging calendar together. I get five copies printed professionally and during my year end trip to India, give them to my parents, in laws, brother, sister and brother in law.

My parents – especially my mom – used to adore them. In the calendar, I usually marked all the birthdays and wedding anniversaries of family members. That way she would remember to call up the folks on the right dates. (In spite of that, how my dad was surprised every year that it was his birthday, I will never know).

My mom used to look forward to turning the pages on the first of every month. She would get to see new pictures of the grandkids or us. For the next few days though I would go thru some perplexing moments during my morning phone calls with her.

The conversation would go something like this:
Mom: “That picture of Nikita – where is she standing?”
Me: “Mom, I have no idea what pictures I put for this month. Can you at least describe the picture and I will see if I can remember.”
Mom: “Of course, of course”.

And then a few minutes later she would be like “What is that thing next to Jay Jay in that picture?”
And I would be again going… “Mom….”

She would assume I was standing next to her when she looked at the pictures on the wall.

The calendar – as you see now – is stuck in time. There has been nobody to flip the pages when December turned to January.

That was the month her breath became air.

And then so did my dad’s.

Time has stood still on that calendar, ever since.