The Phantom limb

It's only when your friends start talking about their families that you realise how much you miss yours. You'll be talking about your mothers amazing food, your brothers sense of humor, about how your father keeps maintaining he isn't artistic at all and then makes terracotta sculptures just because he got started;and then it'll happen. Dishkyawn! Like a sledgehammer out of the blue. Of course you'll cover it up immediately. Crack a mokkai joke to get you through. But the bruise still remains there- you don't even know where, but it's there.

People who undergo amputations talk about phantom limbs- the ghost of the limb that used to be there. The limb aches, itches, twitches and never sleeps.

Here I am. Away from them all. In an environment which,logically,should distract me and help me get over the distance. But,defying logic,the phantom limb stretching over an ocean twinges and winces. And a tear falls down onto the family photo(the only one we took after months of nagging) still pristine and unbent among all the tattered notes and files. I curse myself and call myself a baby, and succumb to it-

"Hello Ma? Yeah I just called for no reason. How's everyone?..."