I miss the feel of the wind blowing though my hair while sitting in an auto, now I shrink from the smoke belched in my face as we inch through the streets.
Streets that were flanked by trees who's flowers they were usually named after, usually an avenue something.
I miss the fragrance of those flowers whose named I'd try to guess by their scent.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse or a whiff of these flowers and my heart warms if only for a moment.
I miss the evening chills, delicious and delightful when you pressed against your father for comfort or snuggled in your mother's dupatta.
The tea was stronger then, I miss the tea my grandmother used to make.
We would sit out on the porch on rainy days sipping hot tea and making conversation.
Conversation that would flow into a comfortable silence.
I miss the silence. I miss the comfort.
Sometimes we would smell the neighbour's jackfruit tree and wait for one to fall.
The neighbours who would pass over some jackfruit over the compound wall as my aunt would pass them a tumbler of coffee.
The compound walls were our source of endless amusement and we clambered, jumped over, walked along and walked over them.
Sometimes chasing, sometimes escaping we were robbers, police, acrobats, superheroes.
I miss the compound walls that used to be 4 feet high.
I miss the neighbours across the wall.
I miss moving freely through the streets and looking forward to car rides.
I miss finding people who were friends that became family and family that were friends.
I miss my grandmother and I miss the world of my childhood.