13 Things I will remember you for

1. That quiet mischievous smile, always twinking of an unspoken prank. (And not once telling us in the middle of a frantic search that you have found the pesky diamond stud.)
2. The fierce will to survive and live. (Days of poverty and destituteness. Nights of rumbling stomachs and determination; yet you persisted in owning destiny.)
3. Those crisp white shirts and standard navy pants you always wore. (A modern-day Jughead or Steve Jobs? Either way, you taught me minimalism.)
4. The choicest of the swear words I have heard as a child and unparalleled for their vivid creativity. (No, the taxi driver is not a whore’s son who is thrown out of the brothel for refusing you a ride.)
5. The silent need to find a book and retire into the literary world on lazy afternoons, weak winter mornings, or stuffy summer evenings. (Or just always. I know how you hated being in the crowds. People are the worst.)
6. The absolute dislike for anything cold. (Winters were spent boarding shut all the doors and windows, piping hot food always and the water heater had hot water all the year; you made your own warmth.)
7. Modern Times. The Great Dictator. Ludo. Card Games. (Your infectious laughter rings true in my heart, after all these years despite the fact that you were a sore loser and an impatient player.)
8. Your religiously-punctual evening walks across the same four blocks which started and ended with the same banyan tree. (They felled that tree 4 years ago. I am glad you never found out about it.)
9. Our discussions on religion, philosophy, and mythology. (“Everything is NOT divine intervention, child. It’s what we believe, eventually.”)
10. The endless pit of stories in your fabulous mind. (I hope that one day, I can tell a curious child all about the world there is to know. To live in the glorious imagination of spoken words and fascinating tales I inherited from you.)
11. Never once asking me to conform to anything. (In a family, nay a society, which asks their daughters everything and more; you lived with the calm assurance of my will.)
12. Holding my hand. Over the years it has been less firm and softer. Meek at times and eventually wavering with the awareness of one’s own mortality. But always a few more seconds than you did the last time and in that microcosm, saying all the things unsaid. (I heard you then. I always did. Did you think we needed language to emote and believe?)
13. Loving me like your own and beyond. (You took all of it when you left, didn’t you? You knew there would be a deliberate emptiness that no one can ever fill. I only pray that you have taught me enough on how to love so fiercely and unfailingly.)

I will miss you, always and forever.

— Manijala