This is not my first monsoon without you, yet I am not seasoned to live alone,

The “Project Childhood” seems a far away dream, yet each morning I wake up craving the smell of you.

I miss pouring my heart out in cryptic terms and yet you understanding what all I meant,

I miss you making sense of even the most mundane activities that surround my being.

I miss goofing up in the kitchen, yet you lapping up the food like it was fit for the heaven.

I miss you making my favorite “payesh” and then putting some away in my favorite bowl, for only you knew that I liked it stiff.

I miss those endless debates that opened my mind, I miss you trying to make up for a word gone awry.

I miss teasing you, I miss you writing down notes about all that I need to pay off when I start earning.

I miss reading your letters, I miss learning Bengali from you ever morning over newspapers.

I miss having the zeal to discover more about Vedas just to let you know new things.

I miss playing carrom and blaming you for cheats, I miss those scrabble sessions where you taught me grammar.

I miss being the girl who thought who shall forever be around

Forever and ever somewhere is missed too in essence with you gone

Today in the world of frequent “I miss you(s)” I don’t know if mine really carries the intensity of how lonely I still feel, despite everyone saying that they see you in me. I still get choked whenever I see a little one being cuddled by someone like you or when in search of a certain post I stumble on those which have your smell. I can’t change my old phone for a new one for it stores your photos and it’s so outdated that I can’t transfer them anywhere else!

I still hide pictures from my timeline whenever someone puts up a marriage photographs where he/she is being blessed by a set of hands, which I shall forever be bereft of on my special day. I am jealous of all those kids who stand proudly in photographs with the set of great-greats and it is no consolation with Mistah asks me to believe in re-incarnation.

I still can’t mourn you the way the world wants me to!

I still can’t refer to you in past tense!

Whoever says “time is the best healer” forgot perhaps that I hate wearing watches or having clocks around my house. For me thus, it stands still and so every morning by the window watching the droplets flow, I wish it was you sitting on the chair humming to me by your feet. Instead today there’s me who sits on it like a misfit and you smile on from behind the frame.

By the way it still rained on my birthday, and thank you for sending the Asian Koel wherever I go. Your secrets are still safe with me, and the stories you told me to make me have my drink still make me roll my eyes.

I am still mad at you for leaving me without attending my first book launch (though I cried buckets and tried to show it was all out of joy). My eyes are not moist as I type this because I miss you, it’s the damn contact lens that needs to be disposed off!

I am your girl thus I won’t tell the world that I am broken, when in reality I could give up anything to just have a morning where I wake up to your voice. I promise that then even if you call me at 7 on a Sunday to discuss the newspaper headlines, I won’t tell you that you are a being a “spoilt brat”!

Hope you doing good. Kindly stay of trouble, will ya? I am not there to bail you out!

Love. My GM.

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