I waited by the window for the winds to bring a message with it. The breeze flew past, carrying fragrances from around the world, but it didn’t have your scent.
My heart panicked. My gut wrenched.
My face turned pale. My arms shuddered. I had no message from you.
Was this the first time? I wondered. My frail memory gave away. But should I believe my senses? For they remembered you. They remembered the last scent you left with me. It lingered. That was until today.
Today, when I inhaled, your scent seemed like a distant memory. I was frightened. I couldn’t find you.
Today fear embraced me tight.
My memory was cheating on me. Or is it my senses?
Tears welled up in Adi’s eyes as he read his grandma’s diary.
He recollected those days of summer when he would go to his grandparents’ place and play with them and enjoy himself for one long month. He learnt the art of cooking from his Aji’s hands. Then came days when classes took up his holidays and he would rarely meet them. He moved out of the country and all that remained between him and his grandparents were those few phone calls on special occasions. But he longed for them; he treasured his memories. Aji fed him his favourite delicacies and taught him how to cook them as well. Now he had learnt to make them but they didn’t taste like Aji’s special. He longed to go back home, but work had him tied up in this unknown land away from home. He didn’t realise how time passed till he received the dreaded call from home. Aji had passed away.
Adi was devastated. He packed his bags and left for home as soon as he could. As he stepped into his grandparents’ house, his gaze met that of his grandpa’s. Words failed both of them. The troubled wrinkles on his grandpa’s face brought tears to his face. They shared an understanding embrace.
Later that night, grandpa came up to him and sat beside him.
“Adi, did you know your Aji was a good writer?”
He shook his head. The last time he spent time with them, he was too young to know it.
“Well, here it is.” And his grandpa handed over a diary to him. The diary was from 1980, the year Adi was born. “Your Aji used to write whenever she thought about you. She missed you a lot in the last few years.” Grandpa smiled and left Adi alone with the diary.