Those silent whispers untold and unheard
Clog those blank spaces I cling by
Some day when I look back at those
Some day when I only have them as ours
Will they still be mine?
Will they still echo deep within my heart
Will they still revolutionize my world?
For, the point in time where I stand, I have them to hold on to.
At times I grow tired,
Beaten by life
Sunk in worries
And as I cling to those blank spaces
Silence becomes defeaning.
But I rise and smile at those memories
And I count my life in them.
I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents. It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could
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