Ache

When I was a child, I usually fell sick around exam time. My grandmother would coax me to go to sleep around 3am, saying "What you've learnt so far is good enough". When I came back from school, my grandfather would sit by the bed and apply cold compress on my forehead. There was so much affection, can anyone love me more? As time went by, I grew out of my exam blues and they grew older. I would apply medicine on my grandfather's back because he had allergies that would itch. It became hard for him to eat, and the last thing he would do every day was to drink a glass of Complan that my mother made and that I took to him. If one day, I was away and not there to give him the milk, he would ask my mother "Meera enga?". Why is it that we remember the little, almost inconsequential details? My grandfather is no more, and these memories break my heart. But they are also my treasure and secret joy, that no one can take away. The lump in my throat won't go away.