Where My Mother Now Rests
In 2015, my mother passed away.
Her ashes were taken to our ancestral village.
As per Hindu customs, a grave was built there, beside my great-grandparents and grandparents.
From that day onwards, when I thought of the village, the first image that came to my mind was not the garden, not the house, but my mother’s resting place.
We had chosen that spot intentionally.
So that no matter how busy life became, we would return to the village at least once a year.
That land held my roots.
My mother’s mother was born there.
My father was born there.
My grandfather was born there.
It was not just soil.
It was history.
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