I grew up in Berhampore, the only place I call home. The rest are only residences. I spent countless afternoons reading books as Ma spoke fondly of more new plants in her garden. Neither Baba shared her enthusiasm, nor I inherited her love of plants, flowers, and nature. Her garden misses her warmth, care, and love as much as we feel its absence in our daily lives.
Last afternoon, I came home from my in-laws’ house in the same town. The kid couldn’t wait to spend the weekend with his grandfather, who he calls Dadan. Today, something unusual happened. The kid spent this morning gazing and querying about trees and flowers. He refused to move away, mesmerized by the greenery. A decade after her demise, she has her successor in her six-year-old nature-loving grandson. If only I could turn back time and make them meet, the boy and his Dimma would’ve made a perfect team.