In the Hive.

My brother & i were left at different relatives' houses during our younger days due to our parents' busy working life. We were taught by our uncles and aunties, scolded by our parents and adored by our grandparents. Those days, we lived like "nomads". I wasn't any adorable girl, just plain obedient and rather aloof. The prejudice from my relatives gave me the motivation/pressure to do well. However, my one and only grandfather was different. He was fair towards everyone but also fierce at times when need to be. In my vague memory, I see him as a frail skinny old man in grey suit with a brown wooden walking stick in one hand and the other stroking my hair. No more black hair could be seen on his head. Few years back, i saw him strolling in the park. i called him. He din respond to me. He was on ear piece. i went nearer so tt he could hear me. Some months ago, i see him with a metal walking support but sitting down on the bench. i called him. he din recognized me. Some weeks ago, i went to his bedside and tried talking to him. He ignored me. This morning, he was lying in the amber wooden box. I din say anithing diz time. itz all in the heart. :)