When Reena was diagnosed with metastatic cancer in the month of October, 16 years ago, she was given a probability of six months to live.So we came home, fell into each other’s arms, cried for two minutes, and then she pulled away and said, “Right, you are not allowed to cry anymore, because you need to be my rock.”
I never broke that rule.
Over the years, obediently dry-eyed around her, we travelled the world. Her health ebbed and flowed, but her spirit always flew high. Often, I would ask her what her favourite place to holiday was, and she always replied, “Kotagiri! Because it’s the one place where you belong to me completely and I never have to share you with anyone else.”
Kotagiri was more than a second home to us. It was the elixir of life. Standing together on an evening patio, watching the sun dwindle into the peaks as the light turned red-gold and then black and then moonsilver, we gratefully acknowledged the gift of days gone by and the promise of a day at a time. The air we inhaled was endlessly pure. The mountain silence enveloped us in understanding. Nature embraced us with unconditional love, and troubles gave us rare room to breathe.