This is a personal journey of things left behind.

My grandmother “mummy” died at the ripe old age of 94 years. After her cremation, I walked into her room and all the things that mattered to her - her God’s idol, pictures of different deities, diaries, almirah of sarees and shawls screamed out to me. The room smelt of her, a heady combination of old age, incense sticks, dhoop, Nivea cream and talcum powder, which she could never do without. Her presence was everywhere.

All that was left were my tears, flowing freely and things she valued and used…

All silent and orphaned…without her, they seemed to have lost all meaning.