With dadi

Sometime last week.

Somewhere in the hospital.

It was a conversation. I was asleep but it was not a dream. You asked me if I was taking care of mumi in the manner that mumi had cared for you. You wore white, were standing, had that twinkle in your eyes and looked at me for an answer. Yes, I said, after moments of silently looking at you. You agreed. You never argued even when you were around.

I said yes but later your question, your tone, got me pondering. Was I doing enough? Was I giving it all that I could? And, like I had expected, you reappeared a few nights later to reconfirm! This time your hand was moving like it used to and you had a smile. What could this be - your love for me? my being answerable to those I love? else?

Mumi, being the patient, used to get Marie biscuits with tea in the afternoons. This biscuit seldom fails to remind me of you. You used to get irritated when anyone either gave or asked you to have it - saying it is good for old people. Boodha ho ga tera baap you had once retorted!

One evening when I was possibly at my lowest, I acutely missed your presence. Your being around. Your assuring me that all would be ok. Your asking me, like you often did - do you want me to do something for you? 

It has been bloody 15 years since you left. I still call out for you at times. I love you.

Few months ago, a friend had pointed out that my voice changes when I talk about you! I had happily smiled then.  

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