About Missing and Owning : While you have been away, Baba.

When I say I don't miss you, or that I've got used to the void of your absence, 

I Lie.

Because I do miss You a lot,

I miss you and me and the certain kind of us that we were, 

together and apart.

I miss a lot of those small things more than the big, noisy, visible ones —

like the whiff of debate and disagreement arriving ahead of our chats, 

many such after the morning newspaper or the evening news ritual;

Or that lull throbbing with the hope of hearing your firm, small voice across the phone-line 

as Ma got you on the line to talk during my daily catch up calls,
filling up time imagining the peculiar shuffle of you feet 
to rise from your age-old armchair 
as you got to the phone,

as I'd try to gauge an understating of your degenerating health.

(I never did tell you though what your weak, feeble voice of some days did to me!)

Or the sound of silence that lurked around and between us 
at odd times, 

holding us together in a comforting hammock like space.

I miss the understanding that always followed and rested—said or unsaid.

I miss those special turns and twists our chats and sharing would take because of both our kind of probing and telling to each other.

I do Miss You. 

And when I say I don't, I'm not quite owning my truth.

Because I also miss Me.

I miss the daughter I was, 

good, bad and in between quite often—the kind I was able to be in your presence;

The kind I was able to be knowing that we were breathing the same day—however separated by air-miles;

Or knowing that we were looking at the same sky—if you happened to glance up from the terrace,

Or that you wondered about what I was upto as often as I did about you;

The kind I was able to be in the moments wombed 

in the comfort of your presence—warm or cold, 

because God knows there were moments of cold as well, just as naturally.

I Miss You,

I miss the truth of our knowing of each other,  

held in mutual response, reaction and presence.

And mostly, I Miss the big, bold, soul comforting truth that You are around.

I Miss you Baba.

And this minute pincered with your presence, 

as I hear you say 'Bhalo Theko Maa', 

I send you  a message that I am well—'Bhalo Acchi Baba'.

(Written on November 4, 2016)