Dear "M"

By Dr Avlokita Sharma

Among the stacks of books, I noticed an old novel. Curious, I grabbed it up. The author was not a celebrated one, and the cover had a neon green text with the simple title "Dear M." I went up to the storekeeper to ask what the pricing was. "Take it as a gift, the novel has been waiting for you," he said, a smile showing through his wrinkles. I felt strange because the shopkeeper had never been so kind.Mom would take me shopping on my birthdays. She adored giving books as gifts, and I loved to read. However, since my mother’s passing, I had not paid the shop many visits. 

I could not wait to reach home to begin reading so I went to the closet coffee shop and settled in to read. The elderly man's words began to reverberate in my head halfway through the book. I hurried back. The store was closed for the day, though. With my heart thumping in my chest, I combed the old cobblestone alleys for him. There he was, leaning against the bus stop post, waiting placidly. He turned to face me, smiled sadly, and boarded the bus. I stood there baffled and clueless looking for answers. 

I am not sure who penned "Dear M." and why.

But "M" was unquestionably my mother Madhushree.

By Dr Avlokita Sharma