Her absence is absent.
It's the new year and we were all gathered at my grandma's. I went through three days of dinner there with the customary prayers to my grandfather and grandmother. But it hasn't hit me of her absence.
A year back she was sitting at the usual spot. But this memory is quite fading. What did she use to speak about? Wasn't the atmosphere a little more heavy when she was around? My uncle wasn't as lively as he is now.
It's scary how time passes so quickly.
I'm quite a hypocrite.
I hate the mess. And that tinge of mustiness that exudes from clothes. The slurping. And the throat-full of phlegm. The way things are being expressed. The need for clarity.
But I know I need to love these too. When will that day come?