My guardian angel

‘Amma, are you listening…? You understood anything I said…?’
‘Off course monu, I’m listening…Go on… And then…?’‘Well, then… Tell me where was I?’
'Monu, go on… Its good to hear you talk…’

With an amazing consistency, this was how she responded every time I sat down to have a serious discussion (or, were they just monologues, since I was only one who spoke during our ‘conversations’) with her…

I was 15 then. And two years later, she died.

Surprisingly, I never really missed her much all these years… May be the longing echo that brought me the kind word, had something to do with it… Or, may be it didn't ...