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, too much on some days. I miss you and me and the certain kind of us 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 hope of hearing your firm, small voice across the phone-line, as Ma got you on the line to talk, during my daily catch-ups, imagining the peculiar shuffle of you feet, to rise from your dear armchair, as you got to the phone, gauging, all the while, the degenerative degree of your health since the last call. I never did tell anyone though what your weak, feeble voice of errant days did for me. Or the sound of silence that lurked around and betwe...






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