Mouma

There is so much of hers I should’ve asked to keep. Her vibhooti-smelling blouses, her saris smelling of her, her creams and powder, her flowers.

I don’t know where I’ll find it in me to continue writing, as if nothing’s happened.

I’ll remember her for many, many things.

But today, I am only thinking of how she clung to me and wept, when she said bye and when she said hi – strongly, and weakly. Her arms – always smelling of vibhooti.

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