On the edge of happiness...

To the memory that still makes me smile, As I write this, there is a smile on my face. Thinking how the 25-year-old me imagined you’d be her forever happily ever after. But the 35-year-old me knows the difference between forever yours and happily ever after. The later is a fairy tale, the former – reality. And fairy tales and reality do not mix in real life. Looking back, I realize how much I believed in love. The innocent belief still makes me smile. I remember that half-smile of yours. The weird names you used to call me – and how I reveled in the love of being called a ‘dumbo’. Now, I would smack anyone who calls me that. I remember how I used to ask 1000 times – what’s wrong – and the reply would be – nothing. Years later, I bumped into a video that explained when men say nothing, they really mean it. Had I known it earlier, I would have not bugged you. Do you remember the first time we went out? I am sure you do, considering how high I was. But do you remember our l

On a May morning, I woke up to the news of death of a father-like uncle. He was in his 80s, battling Cancer for the last 10 years, and died a peaceful death alone – just as he wished. With no family by his side (he was unmarried, and none of us could travel because of the lockdown), my family grieved the absence of people on his deathbed more than anything. While I was coordinating for the formalities and last rites, taking turns to call people back at home to console them – I decided to park my grief. After a few days, when I sat with myself to face the loss, I realized I haven’t lost him to death. In fact, we never lose people to death. We grieve because we find it difficult to accept the person will no more be a call away. While people who loved him cried for days, I could not. It affected me so deep that I created a world within me where I can still ask for his advice. His life lessons helped me bear the loss. And I started doing what he always asked me to – reading The Bhaga