“Madame, bear in mind that princes govern all things--save the wind.” - Victor Hugo
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She was young and beautiful, full of energy and true to her name. She was, in every way, the personification of wind. I say was, not is. “I am the wind”, she would say. And she was. She could not be tamed, like the element she was named after. She chose how she lived. She chose everything from her clothes to her mood. She was my everything. My Vayu. My sun rose and set in her. In her smile. In her eyes. At the end of a long, tiring day, all I needed to calm me down was 5 minutes on her lap. She chose everything. To my utter misfortune, she also chose when to die.
Vayu used to play with the neighborhood kids after she came back from work. Her long hair tossing about as she ran and jumped with them, laughing and gurgling like a newborn. Her glasses would keep flying off her face every time she furiously shook her head while arguing with them. 6-7 year olds. She became as young as them, my Vayu. I could stand watching her for hours. She doesn’t know this, and now she never will. She and I used to meet at a Barista close to where she went to college. We used to meet almost everyday. Whenever I got late, I always told her I was delayed somewhere. Truth is, I would be standing at the petrol bunk outside Barista, out of sight, staring at her. Something about her just made me…stare. I think it was her hair. Yes, I’m sure it was. As I was saying, I would stare at her for at least 15 minutes before I walked in; and give her some lame reason as to why I was late. I still go to Barista. Nobody to even glance at, unfortunately.
My Vayu had a terminal condition. Doctors gave her two months to live. Fighter that she was, she lasted 11. My Vayu was strong, make no mistake. I just wish she hadn’t made me that last promise. She held my hand and promised me she’d never let me go. That was the first time I broke down in front of her. My Vayu. She held my hand and said she’d always hold on that tight. I don’t blame her. She must’ve meant it at the time. Vayu never said things she didn’t mean. 3 days after she promised me, she died.
My mother taught me that nature could never be forced into action. I realized the truth – the harsh bitter truth – of that statement when Vayu went away. It is true. The wind can never be tamed. She lived as she pleased; and truth be told, I couldn’t think of a circumstance where she would have died as she didn’t please. My Vayu would have it no other way. I now realize that I can't change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination. And that destination is her. As I write these words, I sit with 56 sleeping tablets in my belly. The last year has been a constant struggle to exist. Nobody seems to understand my pain. They brush it aside as the melodrama of a man in bereavement. What they do not realize is that I without my Vayu was lost.
Vayu did things to me nobody else ever could. She behaved with me as the wind does. She blew out my candles and fanned my fires. Even now I can hear her gurgling, joyous laughter. My world was Vayu, and now, at last, in death, she and I will be one. For as the great man said, “What is it to die, but to stand in the sun and melt into the wind?” I correct the prophet and say that I will melt into my Vayu. Sleep calls, and I shall never wake up. I’m coming, Vayu. Into your hands, I give up my spirit.
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This is my tribute to Old Love, which is a short story by Jeffrey Archer. It moved me so much that I had to write something very very close to my heart, and this is it.....
Jigsaw
