That night she slept early. I did not ask why, but then I knew that she must have been terrified by the storm. Maybe, the whistling storm must have scared her, or the ghost stories. Maybe or may not be!
I sat on the windowsill with a notebook and the pen gifted by her a year ago. I wanted to write badly. That was peace for me. What should I write? Poem or prose, I asked my heart. I knew the answer though. Poem is the way to express my emotions, but…but…that night I was not interested to pen down one, I said to myself.
A ray of hope arose inside me saying. Ah! What’s stopping me from penning down my experience with the storm?
And I wrote, “It was a Monday evening. The weather was terribly bad, and our city was listed under red zone. My colleagues and I left to home from office early, as we expected the storm to clean the city and…” all that happened in one hundred and twenty minutes in my diary.
When I finished writing the diary, all I remembered was the smile on my wife’s face – calm and serene, beautiful too. I looked at the clock; the time was half past one. I stared out the window. The weather was normal. I saw uprooted trees, thrown-away roofs and other debris, and yet it was calm. That was when I recalled a saying in Tamil, “புயலுக்கு பின்னே அமைதி” (Peace after the storm) and a non-detail lesson. I understood the reason behind that lesson after ten years. My lips curved. I turned back to see my wife. She was sleeping peacefully. Her smiling face was one thing I always connect with my Mom. Maybe, just maybe, I am lucky to have them both in my life, I thought. I kept my diary and pen back inside my cub-board.
I lay on the bed. Maybe, wherever I am, whatever I do, the night after the storm is peace. I said to myself. Peace.