Day 79. She is the most amazing cook. She can rustle up magic in the kitchen in a jiffy. From my favourite lobongolotika to the most delicious dimer devil, anything cooked by her is always garnished with the love she showers on all her nephews and their wives, her nieces by marriage. The seasoning is always perfectly balanced, just like her. She is one of the most prudent ladies I have met. She is our beloved Mamoni. My second Mamoni. For, I already had a Mamoni before marriage. But if there ever was a shadow of doubt in my mind about calling her by the same name, it was quickly dispelled by the abundance of her quiet affection.
Every Puja, Mamoni gifts me and my sister-in-law a sari each. This grey tangail with black and white threadwork was a gift from her one Puja a few years ago. I decided to wear this today since Mamoni is home with us for a few days.
The first time I wore this sari was a heartbreaking one. Try as I might, I can’t forget it every time I look at this sari or wear it. As I draped the sari and drew apart the curtains, I looked out and the sky seemed to have taken on the colour of the sari. Fight as I might, the grey seeped into my heart too, reminding me of that occasion once again. The loss of a dear one. One I loved, respected, loved with all my heart and soul. It was at her shraddh that I had worn this sari the first time. But it was perhaps because this sari is laden with the love and affection of another dear one that I had the strength that day to cope, to accept and to go on. Mamoni has always been that eternal pillar of strength for the family, weathering the storms in her life and always being there for everyone else, quietly performing her duties, doing her work and wrapping everyone up in love. Much like that sliver of white that peeped through the grey clouds when I looked out of the window.

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