"He hated the color orange on me. Whenever I wore it, he'd say, 'Bandariyabanke aa gayi' and tease me. He just knew how to make people laugh- his energy was contagious. I often got home late from police duty, but he'd wait for me to have dinner.
If it was an early night, we'd go for a walk after- we lived a simple, sweet life. On April 1st, I was admitted as the ACP incharge of a Covid cell. I had to manage Covid patients' data. I was on duty from 10 am to 2 am. I was scared, but it was duty, and we had protective gear.
While all of us showed mild symptoms, my husband was diagnosed with pneumonia as well. Before I could even digest this news, he called and gave me instructions on how to manage the finances if he didn't make it. I started sobbing and told him to not say such things. After that, he was put on the ventilator.
Over the next 2 weeks, the rest of us were discharged, but his condition was worsening. I called the hospital everyday to ask how he was doing, but there wasn't any good news. A few days later, the hospital called to say he was very critical, but I still couldn't speak to him.
All we could do was pray. We were supposed to move to Canada to live with our son- he hadn't seen us since last November. We were planning his niece's wedding. Our last conversation was about finances. He was only 54...and he died alone.
The pain is unbearable. It's been 12 days since he left. Most of my day is spent on calls with my son or sister. My son tells me, 'Mumma I will take care of you, I love you so much.' He can't even fly down to be with us- I honestly don't know what's happening. I can't stop thinking about his smiling face before he was admitted.
I'm trying to reminisce about our happy memories-the way we'd exercise together, the holidays we took and the way he'd complain about how many suits I bought. He never leaves my mind. The house, my life is eerily silent without him, and I just wish I'd at least gotten to say goodbye."
Humans of Bombay, Fb
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