Until next time.

A monthful of years.
A lifetime of memories.
It won't be enough.

Chandini, my friend
19 September 1964 - 6 October 2005

(We probably never spent more than 30-odd days in each other's company, all the years that we knew each other, and yet she became one of my closest, dearest friends. My favourite memory of her is from when she visited me in Bangalore, and we just sat together in the living room, reading. Yashoda, the cook, thought that we had argued, because we sat there in silence for so long! But no, we were totally comfortable with each other and able to enjoy just being together with our books in a very special, cosy silence. I've never had quite that type of moment again with anyone. I still miss her. - 16 Feb, 2008)

The name on my cell phone read "Chandini"

But it was her husband who spoke to me this afternoon.

By the time my father is discharged from hospital, the skies seem to be weeping with me. I drive my parents home in the pouring, pouring rain, carefully, slowly, and I try to keep my mind on the road, as Pradeep's words rise and fall in my head. Coma. Bleak. Oxygen. Brain. Vital. She is so vital, so brilliant, so important to life. I believe in miracles. I know that God can perform them. I just don't know if He will.

Heaven weeps for her
and so do I, asking: WHY?
God never Replies.