“It’s the little things I remember, Ma,
and never the big, important things”.
Says my wise, not-so-little girl.
“I remember watching TV”, she tells me,
in between rolling the cookie dough.
“…that’s when I learnt that grandma had a name!”
“You remember? I packed my slippers – to leave home at age two?”
She goes on, sprinkling chopped almonds on the cookies –
“And the time you came to my school
and spoke of forests and cultures.”

It’s the little things we remember,
and not the big, important things.
Those moments that seemed mundane
are the moments that we cherish, and fret –
those nights spent stargazing on the terrace,
picking out Orions and Ursa Majors;
and bike rides that ended in thorny bushes;
the evening tea-share; the night long chats;
the pillow fights and ice-cream walks…
making the journey through our labyrinthine mind –
tucked far back in the attic of time.

The stars still twinkle in the night sky,
the terrace waits in silence.
Kitchens that clattered
with cups and cauldrons are clear of humdrum conversations.
Now is the time to seize the moment,
with firm hand reclaim those shifted spaces –
where live our little, lively memories,
where grew unbridled constellations.
Let go, unwind, or breathe in peace,
waft in the aroma of butter and spice.
Rest your weary bodies and mind,
let your bruised souls heal.
Indulge in little conversations,
and speak of mundane, earthy things.
And then you will discover – again –
It’s the little things that really matter,
and not the big, important things.