Emotions are strange; there’s no saying what triggers them and what form it may take.
Once a person is gone from your life, all those things that irritated you at one point are now the memories that make you cry. After all, no one will love you that much ever again, no one will take your mood swings and manage to still love you unconditionally.
Strange are the things that stick to mind, the memories that linger. When I think of mom I remember the sunsplashed Sunday mornings when we visited the local market, the days all tripping into each other when we did nothing but eat, watch TV and sleep.
I remember how happy mom used to be when she dressed up to go somewhere, her glee at spotting lotus ponds on a trip to Kanyakumari, her joy at learning something new and eating quaint dishes.
At the heart of our relationship was a love for new things (though ironically, we both hated change), new places, new people. And we were both looking for astronomical changes to qualify for happiness.
Mom and I both got it wrong, happiness doesn’t necessarily come from outlandish things; it lies within your grasp, in the lazy afternoons at home, in the random conversations and useless debates. For those moments are all you ever really possess. They become infinitely precious in hindsight, especially since they tend to disappear at the blink of an eye.