The Weight of Returning

In the midst of this happiness,

I miss someone

whom I’m searching for 

in everyone.

Every trip

to my hometown

feels happy and heavy

these last few years.


I never ever thought

I would miss

someone’s voice,

smell,

laugh,

cooking,

love, care,

their presence itself.


Still, I don’t like to believe

that his presence is absent,

as I could feel him

while having parotta.

With every bite,

I feel like

he is sitting next to me,

admiring the way I eat,

yelling at the server to serve

more salna.


While watching TV,

a voice telling me,

“Da, keep whatever channel you want,”

also sharing his time

cinema rumours,

never compromising

when calling out his favourite actor,

Sivaji.


While eating snacks,

I’m reminded of a voice

From the kitchen 

saying,

“Sami, nala sapdu da,

appom tha sathu podum.”


While riding a bike,

I remember the rides

since childhood,

beginning with TVS Xl till Pulsar.

I was the same child,

hugging him tightly,

without any fear

or hesitation,

till the last moment.


While everyone is silent,

the tiny room misses

your loud laughter.

I miss your presence,

and the place is

no more a home,

but a house.


These wounds

are still healing by memories.

Though there aren’t many photos,

yet all these

places,

moments,

my existence itself

remember you.


It feels heavy 

When you are all alone at the station,

you no longer see

his warm smile

welcoming you.

It hurts,

suffocates,

and every return to Chennai feels

like taking him along with us.


All these days, it was easy

to call you thatha,

but now here,

mentioning that

feels painful,

as it would stress your absence,

which I don't want to.

Let it be "he."

A person whom I loved,

love,

will love forever.


Yet the small child in me

doesn’t want to believe it,

and the present me consoles her,

reminding her to cherish

rather than cry,

reminding her to feel, live 

rather than lost,

reminding her to think

about him daily.




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