From the Heart #1 Matchstick Aunty

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·@svkrulze·
0.000 HBD
From the Heart #1 Matchstick Aunty
The boy grew up in her arms. He loved her, she was a huge part of his life. She was his ***Khaati mashi***, or **matchstick aunty**.



She was just the housemaid to everyone. Well, not just a housemaid, she had been living with the family for many years and had almost become a part of it, but to the boy, she meant much more because of the love she showered on him from as long as he could remember.

<center>![matchstick-aunty.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmcPS6EpPiCQ393v7ZjYr899mRsZ6Ur9p8B5FJkHiwFyut/matchstick-aunty.jpg)</center>

<center>[**Image Credit**](https://pixabay.com/en/burning-match-matches-fire-911167/)</center>

<center>![matchstick-divider.jpg.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmaVkaEX7omB5p1WpxBi18PBV3xirdCA9cnoexw7PWkNSR/matchstick-divider.jpg.png)</center>



He used to lovingly call her *Khaati mashi* - *khaati* referring to matchstick.  The Bengali word was actually *kaathi*, but in her thick rural accent she would always say *khaati* and the boy found it funny and called her by that name. *Maashi* meant maternal-aunt and it was not unusual in Bengal to call an elderly lady even without any familial relationship with such familial respect.

 

She used to call the boy *Raam* and his younger brother *Lakhsman*, after the legendary god-figures of Hindu mythology. These names also took a rural form and became *'aam* and *'akkhon*. She loved them both, and they loved her back, especially the boy who was older in age and understood the affection she showed them.

 

She took care of them, cooked food, cleaned the house and did other household chores and was loved and respected by the family.

<center>![matchstick-divider.jpg.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmaVkaEX7omB5p1WpxBi18PBV3xirdCA9cnoexw7PWkNSR/matchstick-divider.jpg.png)</center>

<div class="pull-right">

<center><img src="https://steemitimages.com/DQmWw63s4eiAuLpdfqr3o6E2oVEr7kw5gnyLRXRER41Pz9g/luggage.png" /></center>

<center>[**Image Credit**](https://pixabay.com/en/luggage-stack-old-antique-2708829/)</center>

</div>



Things were going well when suddenly one day the boy figured something was off. His *khaati mashi* was not happy and wanted to go to her village the same day. She had only recently been there for several days.

 

The boy's mother requested her to stay back for a few more days before going again but *khaati mashi* was resolute. The boy did not know why she wanted to go back that very same day.

She did not listen to any request, packed her bags and left that afternoon.

 

The boy and everyone else was watching a movie on the VCR when she left. The boy was not yet big enough to understand the world of adults and he did not quite grasp the significance of what happened.



*Khaati mashi* did not even say goodbye to the boy or anyone else.

 

The boy probably knew what had happened, but was perhaps afraid to ask his mother? Possibly he did not want to hear the truth lest it really became true. Maybe he thought she would return. Perhaps he was confused by what was happening.

<center>![matchstick-divider.jpg.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmaVkaEX7omB5p1WpxBi18PBV3xirdCA9cnoexw7PWkNSR/matchstick-divider.jpg.png)</center> 

It was only when his mother served him dinner that night when he managed to gather enough courage to ask his mother in a very shallow voice, **"When is she coming back?"**

 

His mother explained to him that she would not come back again. 

The pain and anger, sadness and emotions which were welling up inside him since that afternoon finally broke through. His eyes became moist, he couldn't see what he was eating, a lump formed in his throat and he couldn't speak. He kept chewing so that he wouldn't have to speak.

 

His mother came close and hugged him, he slowly stopped crying, the lump in his throat slowly melting away, his vision cleared and his mother wiped his tears. He was just a child, not to be perturbed by anything for long. 

<center>![matchstick-divider.jpg.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmaVkaEX7omB5p1WpxBi18PBV3xirdCA9cnoexw7PWkNSR/matchstick-divider.jpg.png)</center>

But the sadness did not go away. It remained with him for long afterwards, it became a throb of pain in his young heart which he had to fight time and again for some time to come. He was only a kid and other things in life caught up with him. 

However, he never forgot his *khaati mashi*, that pain has now become a lingering sadness, a bittersweet memory, a remembrance of much happiness and an afternoon of estrangement.

<center>![sad boy.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmPq5XCgQy3i1gVR4XntR6W56satdsxoKnTtmoHMPE6hYz/sad%20boy.jpg)</center>

<center>[**Image Credit**](https://pixabay.com/en/sad-child-boy-kid-crying-tears-214977/)</center>


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</center>

<center>![matchstick-divider.jpg.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmaVkaEX7omB5p1WpxBi18PBV3xirdCA9cnoexw7PWkNSR/matchstick-divider.jpg.png)</center> 

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