This is the spot where Papa ji would sit, watching us with a gentle smile while we ran off to play with the Arabian Sea waves.
I went there today, under the scorching sun, feeling the heat press against my skin.
But no—
Papa ji wasn’t there.
For a fleeting moment, I looked around, almost expecting to see him, sitting just as he always did, his presence a quiet anchor amid our laughter.
And then it hit me, all over again—
He’s been gone for almost 30 years.
Yet, in that moment, standing in the same place he once sat, I felt him.
Not in flesh, not in sight—
But in the air, in the waves, in the warmth of the sun that once touched him too.
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