I accidentally punched his number on my cell phone. The phone rang three times, and then a familiar voice came on the phone, Hello, you have reached the Khanna residence, please leave a message after the beep. Pressing the end button on my cell phone, I felt a salty tear roll down the side of my quivering mouth. 

It was Thanksgiving weekend; my mother and I visited my mother’s first cousin in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. My Raju Mamaji aka Dr Rajive Khanna, a well known chemistry professor at the University of Southern Miss. We stopped at the Main street Exxon gas station and called him. I was pumping gas when I noticed a blue Nissan Sentra pull into the parking lot. He jumped out of the car to greet us. He had on a sky blue button-down shirt, matching steel gray dress pants, and a cheerful yellow toe to match his smile. I gave him a little grin when I noticed the blue hand-woven baseball cap which completed his debonair ensemble. Was he coming back from a Saturday morning class, or was he always so neatly attired?

My mother admired the red and violet pansies and the freshly painted white picket fence as we pulled into the driveway of 234 Briar Wood Circle about five minutes later. He grabbed our bags and welcomed us indoors. As I cleared the threshold, my mouth watered from the wafting fragrance of freshly ground mint and roasted cumin. “I hope you are hungry, hmm…. He said, because I stayed up all night cooking for you.” We quickly washed and sat down to eat. The food looked scrumptious; there was mutter-paneer, rajma, dahi vadas, pulao, potato chat and hara-bhara garden salad. Before we could savor the soup, he sprung from his chair and turned the music system on. He looked at my mother with a questioning lift of an eyebrow. She nodded smiling and humming: “It is from the Carpenters’ album, it was very popular when we were in high school.” He nodded and looked pleased. After that we all quietly ate dinner, enjoying all the soul food.

I was ready to call it a day, but he was not, he took me to Wal-Mart, on his usual shopping spree. This had become a daily habit, since he moved into the new house. He bought half a dozen battery operated fluorescent lights for his new canopied wooden deck. While we were fastening the lights to the beams, he spoke to me in an affectionate tone. “Abha, he said clearing his throat, you should always pursue your dreams; you are a very bright girl, never let people tell you what you can do, set your own goals.” I looked at him, and smiled. I liked Raju mamaji he was nice.

During our short visit, I was fascinated by his endless energy, he drove us around town, never forgetting to stop at W-M and regaled us with his delicious cooking and interesting stories. I wondered how his childhood recollections were so vivid, but he was very bright and maybe also suffered from nostalgia, being alone away from home for so long. He told me how when he got into mischief, his mother would punish him by making him stand bare-feet on the terrace. The scorching heat would burn his feet, and without complaining he would slowly creep up behind his mother to find pieces of paper and stand on them for a little comfort. 

The next time I saw him was in April, during spring break, he insisted on us visiting and celebrating my mother’s birthday with him. Looking back, I wish I had savored every moment because soon this would all seem like a dream…
It was around midnight on the third of May when the phone rang shrilly. My mother picked up the phone and said: Who? Which hospital? Don’t worry; I will leave at daybreak. We could not sleep the rest of the night; my mother told me that Raju mamaji had suffered a massive internal bleed. At 5AM, the next day we drove seven hours, non-stop to the Forrest General Hospital, Hattiesburg. The waiting room was full of students, his colleagues and friends. They all looked anxious and worried. As we entered the Intensive Care Unit, a cold hand gripped my heart. The man on the bed looked so different from my uncle. His face was swollen; he had an endotracheal tube hooked up to a respirator, three intra-venous lines, a feeding tube and a catheter. His baseball cap was missing. I was wearing two of his parting gifts, a pearl and ruby bracelet, and a wristwatch that he had made me promise never to take off. I wondered if he knew? I wanted to say so many things, but only tears rolled down my cheeks. I left the unit, praying fervently. I asked my aunt to play music in his room. Everyday my friends asked me, is he better? I did not know what to tell them, but I very much wanted to believe that he was…... 

The Saturday before my finals, my mother went to Hattiesburg again. I begged to go with her, but she gently refused because I had exams. I stayed at my friend’s house while she was away. The night of May 26th, I waited anxiously for my mother’s phone call. I had just finished eating dinner and was busy reviewing for my English exam, when the phone rang. My friend’s mother picked up the phone and spoke in a low tone. I strained my ears, I am sorry, is all I could catch. My heart was in my ears. She handed me the phone. I closed my eyes as I gripped the receiver. I heard my dreams shatter into millions of pieces. I had prayed so desperately for him to live, but maybe I should have prayed harder…

Now our phone never rings in that unmistakable sequence, first the home phone, then my mother’s cell phone, and then mine. We do not hear that urgent voice, Where are you? All we have is an audio recording of his answering machine, that I am afraid to play. What if it vanishes too? 

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