People are irreplaceable, no matter how much we like grouping them, pigeonholing them, the truth is no one is quite like the other ever. That’s what makes their loss all the more poignant and final.
When I think of mom I miss her spirit, the same spirit which got her to eat the bitter fruit that’s ritually stepped upon during diwali. In her defence she didn’t know the custom and was plain curious. I miss the streak only she had, of being adventurous yet cautious, a mysterious hippie spirit which saw her collect coconut tree shaped earrings alongwith delicate beautiful heirloom ornaments. The same spirit pervaded her cooking where she created dishes that could be memorable or utterly chaotic. They don’t make moms like her anymore.