Alpa’s depressed self-blaming was interrupted when she suddenly thought she heard her mother’s voice coming from outside. She called out for her instantly: “Amma? Amma!”
She knew that it could not possibly be her Amma, the one person she knew cared about her happiness. Amma had died long back, when life was all drawn out: a straight line that consistently moved ahead with no questions, no worries – only a plan that needed to be followed.
Alpa wondered again how that straight line had so easily become a downward spiral and she had no answers for herself.
She continued to hear the voice, singing a song she remembered from childhood. It sounded so much like her mother that Alpa thought that maybe she was dreaming or had even unknowingly passed into her next life; what other explanation could there be?
She knew that it could not possibly be her Amma, the one person she knew cared about her happiness. Amma had died long back, when life was all drawn out: a straight line that consistently moved ahead with no questions, no worries – only a plan that needed to be followed.
Alpa wondered again how that straight line had so easily become a downward spiral and she had no answers for herself.
She continued to hear the voice, singing a song she remembered from childhood. It sounded so much like her mother that Alpa thought that maybe she was dreaming or had even unknowingly passed into her next life; what other explanation could there be?
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