Lily's Confessions- 2

Chapter 2: Hate.

Hate is such a strong word. I could never bring myself to look someone in the face and say 'I hate you' and mean it. But I have met people who could and it frightens me. The mere possibility of someone being filled with dread and anger at the thought of someone else. I always ask why, why do you hate them but the answers always go over my head. It scares me even more because I know it might be possible for me, for me to hate a person. Here's a story. 

My grandma and I have these sessions in the afternoon where we talk until one of us falls asleep. We tell stories, talk about the day, talk about the future and sometimes about the past. One such afternoon, she decided to tell me a story. I still believe to this day that it was the comforting sunlight that gave enough warmth as a mother's breast, or the coolness of the pillow that would rock me to sleep, or the strange assurance of a listener that would be present till the end of the story, was what gave her the courage to tell the story of her mother. A woman who has endured all hardships, a woman who didn't have enough time to love all her children because she was busy feeding them, a woman who I never knew but whose thoughts I would continue to dissect the way I want to because of the many hearts in my hands that I refuse to break. When my drowsy eyes had gained confusion, it looked straight into hers which was tearing up with the reality of it all even though it had been years. 

When the hateful words of her son reached her ears, the slamming of the bathroom door looked like a tantrum of an old lady. The idea that kerosene and matches would pretend to be her friends after toiling so many years in the kitchen, didn't reach their minds. When the smell arised and an auro of tragedy and guilt filled the air, the hate in the air had transpired to exhausting sorrow and vain efforts to save her. When they saw her like that, a burned body crawled up into a ball in a corner, bearing all the pain without letting out a cry for help because she thought no one wanted to, did they hate her?

When the tears made their way down to the side of her eyes, she looked at me. And I was looking at her. I never looked away. "She must have hated us.",she said. What a sorrowful sight it is to hear a child think that her mother could hate her. "No, she doesn't Grandma.", I held her hand. "It was just words. Words.", she said.

She cried for a bit, and dozed off slowly, being tired from recollecting her emotions. I slept to the lullaby of her soft breathing and the sound of the fan. When I woke up, I didn't find her next to me. I walked up to the front room and was welcomed with a fresh plate of pazhampori(banana fritters). I smiled when she said "Go on! It's made with love."