Clueless Ink

My nanu,

When I was ten,

He was my summer school teacher,

my entertainer,

the keeper of change

for fried food in the mornings,

rajma chawal summers,

and always, toffees.

–

As I grew,

he became my friend,

the one I whispered secrets to

about boys and heartbreaks,

while he slipped out quietly,

afraid Nani might overhear.

Still, the toffees stayed.

–

His advice was gentle,

always beginning with,

“You also have to understand the other person.”

I’d roll my eyes,

angry he couldn’t take my side,

and yet, days later,

with that soft smile,

he’d return to ask,

“Ab naye ladke ka date of birth toh bata de.”

–

Sometimes,

We fought,

because he was too direct,

but the way he loved,

the way he smiled,

it was as if life itself

was the song,

Kisi ki muskurahaton par ho nisar.

And then, he’d hand me a toffee.

–

He called me Bhooth.

He stocked the fridge with coconut water,

guarded my food while I studied,

and cared in ways

too quiet for words.

–

Every visit meant toffees.

I’d tease, “Nana, I need diamonds now.”

The businessman in him would smirk,

‘Tu hi toh hai heera.’

And hand me toffees again.

–

One anxious night before an exam,

toffees didn’t work.

He pressed chandan on my head,

gave me massages,

chai and bread in the morning,

loose change in my pocket,

and still, more toffees,

Melody or Kaccha Mango Bite,

my pick.

–

Now he has left us.

But I still have his Melody.

Six of them, tucked away,

the last ones he gave me

before I flew to the US,

his way of wishing me the best

when words had already left him.

–

So yes,

I know he loved me.

And I hope he knows

I loved him too.

And I miss him.

A lot.

–

And if I can live up

to his favorite song,

I’ll know I’ve done something in life:

Kisi ki muskurahaton par ho nisar,

kisi ka dard mil sake to le udhaar,

kisi ke waaste ho tere dil mein pyaar,

jeena issi ka naam hai..