Faded Memories

“How much do you love your wife?” This is the question she asks me quite often. Who even asks this to a 70 year old married man, who is head over heels in love? This question is accompanied by a glass of water, and a white capsule. Ah, how much I hate it, being dependent on a small pill, but well, time ravages all.
She asks me again. “How much do you love her?”

I take the pill and gulp down the water, and begin. “You know how teenagers nowadays feel when they have their first relationship. The first impulsive one. The one where they profess their love for each other all too loud, but the smallest details and the most timid of the idiosyncrasies remain unknown to them. The love I have for her is just the opposite. She is not an excellent cook, but her chicken curry will have you licking your fingertips for hours. Her favorite color is beige, because this was the color of the first doll she owned. This was also the color of her grandfather’s walking stick. Her favorite ice cream flavor is Vanilla, because when she was young, this was all her family could afford. The other flavors cost more, and thus she learned from the beginning to love this flavor. She scratches her palms when she lies. This is her tell. She has brown colored eyes, and she loves them because she likes being ordinary. This is how she is unique. Her self-worth was never attached to the pretty things most people fawn over. This is why she is an absolute delight to be with. She is the woman who will dance with you on a street just for the sake of having fun, and this is also the woman who will continuously pester you to take your medicines.

“Her favorite outfit is the purple-colored saree I got for her. She has worn it so many times that the color has faded, but she still won’t let me give it to anybody. She would willingly give her jewelry, but not this saree, because she knows how much I love seeing her in it. ”

“I can go for hours, really. Do you have the patience to listen?” And there stands a woman, clad in her old purple saree, face covered with wrinkles, and those wrinkles covered in tears. Tears that make her eyes red are the same tears that are falling on the pill she has in her hand. The capsule to treat Alzheimer’s disease.

I look at her and ask, “Who are you, my dear lady?”

Kartik Agarwal is a first year student at Gujarat National Law University, India. Apart from writing, he is keen on photography, basketball and dogs. Kartik has previously worked with a few non-profit organisations.