Two years ago, on this day...

Dear Ma,

Apachi kanalaru,
pachi kanalaru,
kucchi kanalaru,
kundi kanalaru.

That is the lullaby you sang to me when I wouldn't sleep. That is what you used to fondly say to me to irritate me. Two years ago, the world I knew crumbled into pieces when I heard of your passing away. It was so unexpected. There were no warnings. There were no signs. It was all over in one moment. It felt like an arrow had shot through my heart. The birds, the bees and even the trees cried to mourn your loss. But words cannot adequately describe the sorrow I felt. The hurtful and painful days that ensued didn't make anything less opaque. We had just spoken the day before. Why did life have to end?

Alas, that is way of life. A life brought into this world is also taken away. Good or bad, all people eventually return to soil. But it is the good that are eventually remembered and missed. You are missed for your courage in the face of hardship, for your simplicity in this complex world, for your sympathy for the less privileged in life, and for your undying love to your family and friends. I have learned to appreciate these virtues not from preachers or religious leaders or teachers, but from you. You may have left us, but your spirit continues to live.

Now, all I have left is your memories. I remember all the small things you did that have made a big difference to my life. I remember when I was five or so, we were walking to the market and you wanted to carry me but I refused. I wanted to walk along side you but only a few moments later, I got tired and asked you to carry me. I remember how you would clutch me tightly when I would sleep next to you because you didn't want me to accidentally fall off the bed. I remember how you would pack 5 days worth of food for me when I would travel to India for boarding school, only for me to throw half of it away because it was just too much. I remember how you would knit sweaters for me when I was away in boarding school, and then you'd realize it was too small for me when I returned home because I had grown more than you had thought. I remember how you were so happy when I earned my first paycheck of $20 but how you spent 5 times as much celebrating! I remember how you cooked a feast for all my college friends just a day after reaching from a long and tiring journey. These are a few of the countless memories I hold on to dearly. I am left with only that.

I wish I could turn an hourglass and reverse time to get you back. You'd be so happy to see all the new joys in our lives. I moved to Seattle for a better job and bought a condo last year. Deepti started working and Venkatesh got a permanent job in Dallas. But you'd be especially thrilled to hear of the birth of your first grand child, Anusha Lalita Nagaraddi. Anusha looks like a little angel. So innocent. That is the way of life. One is taken and another is given. I am sure Anusha carries your spirit.

Apachi kanalaru,
pachi kanalaru,
kucchi kanalaru,
kundi kanalaru.

I want to hear you sing these words to me again. But this time, I won't go to sleep. I'll hold your hand and ask you to sing it over and over again. For I wouldn't want you to go away. But I can only wish now. Two years ago, on this day, we all lost a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter and a friend. In your honor and memory, I dedicate this memoir to you today.

I miss you.

Your son,
-Prashant.