As I live, I gain memories. But as I live, I lose many of these memories. This is my attempt to hold on to some memories dearly.
My (maternal) grandma liked listening to radio at bedtime. During the time I lived with her, we would lie side-by-side on a four poster bed, protected by a mosquito net, fireflies glowing outside and we would listen to the radio together. I have this habit of continuously working on my todo lists, always planning and always advancing tasks. This comes from her.
My (paternal) grandad and I wrote long letters back and forth. This was when I was little. I can’t imagine what we had in common enough to discuss. But I have this suspicion that he nurtured the contemplative part of me.
My (paternal) grandma was a resourceful mother to a large family. She figured out how to feed her children and an extended family, all refugees from the India-Bangladesh partition. I have this wonderful memory of her cooking little fish wrapped in banana leaves on dying embers of coal in our Varandah in then the small town of Alwar. I must have acquired my fondness of little fish since that time. In my case, the fish come from tins.
My (maternal) great-grandmother spoke very little. I feel like I barely knew her. If I paid more attention, I might have learned the art of listening from her. She loved pets, cats and birds specifically. I want to remember her happier, she would have liked a cat for a company.
My dad, a larger than life influence. He was always jolly, he would break into a laugh so easily that it would melt your heart. And nothing made him happier than eating “jhal-muri” by the river Hooghly. I have many of his qualities, but jolliness is not one of them.
Locomotoring 
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