Thirteen years ago, to the exact minute of this post, I lost my grandmother. The sole person responsible for me retaining my mental balance from a not so pleasant childhood.

I still miss the upma she used to make, the waking up at 6am in the morning to make Puri and Chhole for me, to carry to school, despite the fact that she had acute spondylytis.
I still miss, the Re.1 she used to give me everyday to buy chocolates.
I still miss, how she used to get angry with me whenever I did Maths sums wrong.
I still miss, stories about how towns and villages in Tamil Nadu were.
I still miss, how she used to shield me from my Dad’s temper.
I still miss, how she used to egg me on to study more.
I still miss, hell, I miss everything about her.

I remember, 4 days was all she got to know that she was dying. Or maybe she already knew.
I remember, looking from the first floor, as she was being taken away in an ambulance on a stretcher to hospital.
I remember, the last words I spoke to her was a week before she died, when I’d scored 10/10 in a class test.
I remember, meeting her an hour before she died. Perhaps she knew I was there, I could not tell, she was in a coma.
I remember, writing ‘Good people never die, their thoughts remain forever’ in my school calendar about 20 minutes after she died.

How true those words are…

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