Have you ever felt how abruptly the bar of anxiety rises when the screen begins to flicker or volume is attenuated or cut to zero? Have you ever felt how helpless our subconscious mind feels when we try to yell out in between a nightmare? Have you ever felt how ruthlessly heartbeats commence to hammer from inside as soon as you stammer while addressing a large gathering? Have you ever felt how overwhelmed our heart turns when our voice is muted by our dear ones?
These are some experiences which either we never desire to witness or we desire quick recovery from such a scenario. But what if you never recover from such a suffocating dilemma?
A situation where your voice remains either unheard or is misinterpreted. A situation where your voice is metaphoric to modern art which relies on comprehensive capabilities of the world.
My quarantined period made me realize this fear.
After the devastating trauma of grandfather passing away, my grandmother felt scared; This fear was not comprehensive even in its most elaborative explanations. As time proceeded grip of her hands began to get blunt and so was her zeal to explain this fear. She was particularly curious of everything happening around her but as time proceeded her curiosity began to turn opaque. She was very fussy about her cuisine but her appetite began to turn unbiased. She had tiny drooling eyes pondering here and there but slowly they began to get caged in her thick spectacles. She always had racing tiny steps towards nearby temple but they were soon unhurried by her obnoxious walking stick. She used to make gorgeous colorful rangoli’s on Diwali but briskly they began to fade before we could capture them to reminisce in future.
Our fast and tight schedules were often interrupted by her silvery voice which had a plea to pause our lives for a while and embrace some moments with her. Honestly those annoying interruptions now haunt my ears but I can just envy those days now. I never felt that her commanding interruptions were losing decibels and soon they became inaudible. Her helpless stubborn demands were often laid down and soon those demands became voiceless. I never felt so blind, felt so deaf, felt so dumb to see, to hear or to voiceup for my granny. I spend most of my day in my room adjacent to her room upstairs. I so wish to hear her call to serve her a glass of water, to serve her favourite cuisine, to give her the most relaxing foot massage but what makes me most downhearted is the truth that I won’t hear that voice again. There is a tradition to take resolutions on New Year Eve but I promise in these quarantine days that I won’t permit my future family to make my parents voice voiceless. And I hope this experience may turn many voices up in my readers' families.

-©Anmol Singhal