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...