July is the Cruelest Month

In this poignant, autobiographical poem, July brings back memories of a fateful day, two decades ago, when loss and grief intertwined for Debarati, exclusively for Different Truths

(Dedicated to my mother, who passed away on July 26, 2003.) 

July is the cruelest month. 
it pushes me to the edge,
into the dark dungeons of grief
It makes me walk down the lane,
I never want to visit again,
It makes me wriggle in pain as
I remember the fateful afternoon, 
The drenched and soggy afternoon, 
when I spoke to her for the last time.
That afternoon, twenty years ago, was the first time
I saw Baba’s moist eyes helplessly staring out of the window,
Waiting for the ambulance to arrive 
Wading through the water-logged streets of Asansol.
The previous night’s storm had uprooted his favourite papaya tree
that Thamma had been nurturing since
She stepped into this house as a bride,
Baba said, maybe this was indicative of a bigger loss
coming our way
That afternoon Ma’s wails still ring in my ears.
That afternoon Ma wanted to eat ‘mach bhat’ with us for one last time.
A rain-soaked July afternoon finally washed off
Our papaya tree and Ma’s pains.
July is the cruelest month,
It makes me remember that afternoon again.

Note:

Thamma: A Bengali term for grandmother
Baba: A Bengali term for father 
Ma: A Bengali term for mother 
Mach Bhat: A Bengali dish consisting of fish and rice.
Asansol: A city in West Bengal.