The entire house was in a flurry, some were cleaning, others were gathering clothes, and I stood in the middle of it all, still trying to comprehend what had transpired. Grandfather, truly gone?

Would his voice never echo from his room again? His morning calls for tea, his perpetual forgetfulness regarding medication times – was it all truly over?

Observing everyone engrossed in their tasks, I wondered if anyone even had the time to grieve, such was the volume of work. My gaze drifted to the balcony, Grandfather's cherished spot, and mine too.

Slowly, I made my way towards it and sat beneath his armchair, lacking the courage to occupy the seat that was distinctly his.

Grandfather would never permit anyone to sit on it; it was dearest to Grandmother. He used to recount how whenever Grandmother would get upset, she would sit right here on this balcony, in this very armchair, her face turned away in wait for Grandfather to come and appease her.

And Grandfather would come, quietly laying a mat beside her and sitting down. Grandmother had passed away even before I was born, yet Grandfather never let us feel her absence. But now, who would fill that void? It was on this very balcony that all us siblings would eat mangoes during the summer, with Grandfather narrating stories from this armchair.

On nights with power cuts, we would all come to this balcony, spread out mats, and sleep. I don't know if we never got the chance to do all that in recent years, or if we let the opportunities slip away, but now, all of it is irretrievable.

Grandfather's room had air conditioning, but he rarely used it, or perhaps he didn't need to; the cool breeze on the balcony sufficed for him. So many new kurtas lay in the cupboard, yet Grandfather would only wear his usual two or four, content with just what he needed.

That Grandfather, who found joy in simplicity, was no more. Lost in reliving his memories, I sat there when suddenly a voice called out, "Raghav, let's go, we need to take Grandfather."