It was raining. I liked to see the rain fight with the window pane. But the glass always seemed to win. He used to sit beside me and watch me looking at the war. He used to say, "Why do u think that it is a war"? I would reply, "But that's what it is, isn't it"? He would say, "I don't think so. I think that the rain is a prince, madly in love with you. And the wicked window is blocking his way"! And he would open the window.
Every morning, he would stand in front of my bed, smiling at me- with a bunch of Rajanigandha. He would tell me, "Feel the flower. For when you feel it, the flower becomes you". I never understood what he meant by that. But Rajanigandha had been my favourite flower, since then.
He would hold my hand as we walked into the woods. I would try to talk something but he would stop me. He used to say, " The trees are telling me their secrets. You can hear them too. Just listen". But I never heard anything.
He had loved me all his life as I had loved him. He always had strange pronouncements to make, about things, as normal as the rising sun. But one day, I saw him, lying still, yet smiling- covered in white linen and Rajanigandha all around him.
But since that day, I had felt him in every drop of rain that fell on me and in every tree that I came across. I had felt him in the fragrance of the Rajanigandha.
Love you, Grandpa!
