Midway Milestone

First written in an Ochre Sky writing circle.

Art by Noirtanki, a writer, editor and artist with a special interest in pop culture through the lens of neurodiversity and the female gaze. Her work focuses on curating human interest stories, micro memoir and social commentary.

My father died a few days before my fiftieth birthday in 2022, but he cut my fiftieth birthday cake! We were all together in my parents’ house in Pune – my parents, my brother and me. My brother would be flying back to the US before my birthday, so one morning, I decided we should cut a cake together before he left. My brother went out to get our favourite Kayani cake and a packet of potato chips, my mother brought out some paper plates and tied a pink ribbon to a pretty knife. I cut my fiftieth birthday cake on the dining table, with my parents and my brother standing around me, murdering the Happy Birthday song. Then we clapped like kids and my father pushed us all away from the cake. He ditched my mother’s pretty knife for a sharper instrument, sat down eagerly in my chair and lovingly cut the cake up into the neatest slices. Just two weeks later, he was gone from Covid. My real fiftieth birthday was cancelled. But in a way, that little family celebration, with the four of us eating cake and chips and singing like kids at a party was more significant than any celebration could ever be. And there is nothing like the death of an ageing parent that reminds you how far along the road of life you yourself have travelled!

My whole life is in front of me. The pitter-patter of little feet all around me turn quickly into confident strides climbing up a slope. We climb together, my friends and I. The horizon is far, far away across rainbow-coloured fields that stretch for ever all around us. There is music and dancing, movies and magic, friends and flowers, beauty and freedom. The stars all have crinkly edges and smile down at everything they see. Sometimes, there are storms - dark clouds rumble and the skies turn grey, but when we hunker down and wait, they turn blue again. Sometimes, strong winds blow and push us – faster they seem to say, higher, higher. Higher we climb, and higher – the sun, the stars, the sky itself coming closer and closer as if we could reach out and touch them. If we all stood outstretched arm to outstretched arm, surely we could touch the sky?

And then we are standing right at the top. When we look up, there is no more hill to climb. We see only the stars shining quietly out of a sky that changes colour from blue to grey to inky black. The winds start to calm and when we look around, we know that the only way to go is down. Slowly, we start the descent. Everything takes more time, and we have to watch our step. The music softens and the landscape rolls more gently. When a storm comes, it stays longer and leaves us slower than before, but there is more time for everything – to listen to the music, to stare at the sky, to lie in the sun. Ahead of us, further down the slope, the landscape looks still beautiful, but bleaker. There are less flowers and more drifts of snow.

There are people we have known who walk ahead of us until some of them reach the edge and we cannot see them anymore. We follow – there is nowhere else to go. Only now, we are much more mindful of the little joys that help us along the way!