Perhaps Sunday,A day of May 2020 ( A short story)
Dear Ayaan
We decided your name when you were in my womb. Ayaan if it was a baby boy and Aditi if it was a baby girl.
I can't forget the day I received the news of the little magic brewing in my womb. I hugged your dad tightly when he came back from office. That was the best day of my life.
He had always been a workoholic but I wanted him to slow down so we could enjoy our pregnancy. I have always been worried about his elevated BP but it started getting better.
I cherished your kicks and hiccups and resolved to chronicle each day after you enter this world . A deadly virus had slowly started gripping the world but that was none of my concern. I was so busy shopping online for your adorable clothes. In the second week of March, your dad went to Chennai for work . The situation seemed to exacerbate. I called him and asked to cut short his work and return. Who refuses a pregnant wife ! Thankfully he took the next flight.
National lockdown was announced 5 days later. The sky was answering my prayers! We spent an enthralling time together. I would wake up to the special morning tea . He perfectly satiated my hunger pangs! We set up a small welcome corner for you in our room. While watching ' Serendipity ' four days back I told him how I longed to see you .I entered my seventh month that midnight.
I woke up in pain two hours later. It grew unbearable in another hour. I staggered to the car and sat in. The car wouldn't start. He called up friends but excuses were being concocted and nodded to .I don't blame anyone for not coming by in these times. The hospital ambulance services weren't responding. I was yelling and crying. The dread on his face was turning him red and sweaty . The mid day seemed like a nightmare to me. I heard a bang on the boot of the car. I struggled to disembark and there I saw your dad panting, clutching his left shoulder. His diminishing baritone intermingled with the siren of approaching ambulance. Your dad didn't get up. I know nothing else.
It's been around two days. I am in isolation ward and this seems like another world. The ambulance driver was infected. I don't get what doctors and nurses talk to me. But I know you are a brave premie. I want to talk only to you. All that I am writing is getting washed off just like all the pages I have written to you since last night. This paper won't be able to take the burden of this wetness and will tear off on its own. I can't say we will meet soon, I don't want to. Sometimes the skies answer our words and not the prayer.
May be, we meet to grieve together.
Mumma