How Terrible it is to Love Something That Death can Touch.
It is 1996. I'm 5 years old. I'm wearing a pink polka-dotted frock and my two pig-tails look cute. I'm at my Grandfather's place, from the maternal side. I call him Nanusa. He is thin. He has a smile on his face. Because of me. We're in the garden watching the birds flying all around. I tell him I want a bird too. He gets a bird-cage, puts some food-grains in it and leaves it hanging on a tree branch with the small cage door open. A bird flies in. He rushes towards the bird-cage and quickly locks the little door. "See those big black spots on the bird? It's a Papa Sparrow", he tells me. Papa Sparrow starts thrashing his wings on the bars of the cage. A feather falls. He now also has a small cut on his weak body. I look at Nanusa. We let the Papa Sparrow out and it flies away to other sparrows. Probably, Mamma and Kid Sparrow.
2010: It has been two years now. Two almost years since this wonderful man left us. A simple man. His smile still etched in my memories. The last time I had met him, I wish I'd have a chance to hug him. Hug him tight and tell him I really loved him, wanted to spend more time with him, sit in the garden to watch some more birds fly around, go to the junk-food corner and eat those pani-puri ... I wish I hadn't grown up because after "growing-up" it was all about the time-we-never-have.
The loss is now seeping in me. After two years. I miss him and the thought of not being able to meet him again is unbearable. Loss of feeling. Loss of expression. A plain loss.
You left too soon.
... rest in peace Nanusa.