His grandfather had oesophageal cancer. The day it was detected, the cancer spread like the plague, infecting all their lives. One second he had just an ordinary cough. The next second, he had the big C. “I still remember the day.” He thought. His Dadaji would wear a crisp formal safari suit to work. And walk out like he owned the world. He drove an ambassador and never forgot to kiss his wife a loving good bye… Every single day of his life. The cancer threatened to take away his life but these moments… no… He continued to do the small things he always did when he was well. Until he realised that he could not eat anymore. He shaved and patted his face with cologne, just like any other day. And strode out to the hospital.

The days he would visit him in the hospital, his grandfather would smile back. That was the most he could do. Everything else was tiring. And the drip would trickle its way down the bag and into his veins. Ignoring his grandson crying over his pitiable condition, he wrote on a piece of paper, “What’s for lunch?” He smiled looking at his grandfather and opened a takeaway. The intoxicating smell of the Mexican spiced quesadillas spread in the room like a magical spell. His grandfather shut his eyes and breathed in the aroma. And then he wrote, “Does it taste as good as it smells?” He took a bite and said, “Yes.”

That night, his grandfather kissed his wife a loving good bye… one last time. After all, it was a ritual he was proud of.