A full moon day it was. The floor of the terrace was cold. Few old sarees we spread for us to sit. We sat in a circle surrounding our grandma. Her wrinkled hands held a huge pot. We sniffed the air. Ghee rice it was! She took a handful of rice and made a ball out it. She fed everyone of us. One ball for every honeybunch of hers. Several rounds went by. Our stomachs were full. But grandma insisted us to have more. She didn't know that her compassion had already filled our stomachs. She wiped our oily mouths with the pallu of her cotton saree. Grandma in her soothing voice told us a story about a brave and wise king. One by one we fell asleep under the blanket of night sky with our hands intertwined as we listened to her story.
Later when she was no more , I kept looking for her among the stars , only to realise that she is the moon. For my grandma is the one who illuminated my life with the light of love.