I remember it very vividly; I had driven down in my 99 Honda Civic which was a hand-me-down from my dad. The weather was surprisingly brisk considering fall had shot shades of winter in its early days.

I walked up to my uncle’s door and found it unlocked, as always, and announced my entrance to the house. Silence was scattered around the house. All I could hear was the dishwasher running in the kitchen. I followed my usual trail up to the top level and towards my grandfather’s room. After three knocks and a slight nudge at the door, I was in his room.

Dada jaan was taking a nap and I could hear his heavy, muffled breathing from the quilt he lay under. I sat on a chair nearby and just soaked up his presence in the room. Dada jaan had a sixth sense that allowed him to sense people in his midst, but it seemed to have worn off, considering I had been there for minutes and he still seemed to be unaware of my presence. After a brief moment, that seemed to have stretched on for hours. He coughed and searched for the water bottle on his bedside table, I obliged and greeted him.