The conversations were in a cyclical loop…
Repeated verses with significant learnings…
They had a distinctive rhythm and tune…
The brain cells triggered by the slightest nudge…
Like a cascading river of old thoughts…
On a desultory day with a cup of tea…
Tales had the same crunchiness like the savouries…
Of quotidian life and classical music…
Of lost love and culinary secrets…
Of heady triumphs and depressing lows…
Of moments of emptiness and rancour…
And then one day, my grandma passed away…
Leaving behind the bag of anecdotes…
Those lachrymose classic stories…
The exchange of glances strewn in dialogues…
The memories doused with the passage of time…
Here I am navigating the arduous life…
Recollecting the words of my raconteur!
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She has a penchant for writing since she was a teenager
She squeezes in time between work and her kid
She joined the group as she loves to write and read
With a little encouragement and support
She wants to soar high in the privileged company of cohort
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