Bubble bursts

The silence hurts.
Her silence hurts.
It is in silence that her absence becomes more acute.
It is in silence that her not being around is sealed.
For a year now, I have gone by the thought that she is visiting Ludhiana.
Hence the absence.
Hence the silence.
Hence the not being there.
The trick works. Often it does.
But some days, the reality is overpowering.
On those days, the reality bites and stings.
On those days, I cannot silence the thought that she is gone. Forever.
Try as hard as we might, she is not coming back.
And her silence is all we have got now.
I haven't gathered the courage to enter her room. Not yet.
And when I do, I am still not able to look up at her picture. I barely steal a glance and I have to look away.
I look up at unknown faces, complete strangers, who are probably grandmothers to unknown kids, and my eyes moisten.
Tears well up and dry.
In some unseen depths, I cry and roar.
Muffle screams that I miss her.
Outwards, I throw a pretence of composure and walk on.
Praying all the while.
Gran, rest in peace, return if possible.