Friday, August 5, 2016


"Your Nanaji has passed away" sobbed Mom over the phone while I heard it with a shock.

Wanted to speak but my mouth was dry, had to gulp many times until I could utter something.

"Mom!" I kept repeating, but she was sobbing so hard that she could hardly hear my echoed voice that was coming from thousand of miles.

Those days an overseas call would always comprise of high pitched tone, and unfortunately, the topic of our conversation had subdued our voices.

While I continued with my Hello's with the hope that she would hear me, I went back to those days when I would visit my Nanaji in Meerut, India.

The visits to his farm house (Bhatta) where we would go on nature hikes, take a dip in his tube well, ride on the tractor and tour his farm, chew upon the sugarcane, eat that desi authentic food that the workers provided us. Nothing would come in between that nature and me. When I would come back home, my nails would be filled with dirt, clothes and shoes would be muddy, but deep inside there was always the urge to go back, which unfortunately would not happen now!

As I waited patiently with my moist eyes and my Hello's that was crossing the Atlantic Ocean and about seven countries. I was wishfully thinking for that day to come once more just so that I could re-Live those moments.


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