The white Ambassador car stopped in front of a building. I looked at the building trying to see if it was the one I visited 7 years back. I saw a spectacled face from a balcony looking straight at the taxi. The strong continuous gaze could only be hers. She had been waiting for more than an hour and I know this is how she waits. Why did I take so long to be back here? I climbed the one floor I had to and she opened the door before I could knock. She would not demonstrate her feelings and I could not hold them any more. I hugged her and felt her hug as gentle as her form. She was dressed in a cotton light pink sari with red threaded border wrapped with carelessness of routine, showing crush folds like wrinkles and yet its beauty shining through like her affection. She asked me to put my bag in the room which she had carefully readied for me. She has a hurried way of talking, delivering information quickly and only if you ask her further and slowly, does she reply slowly and in detail. She is more than 75 years old for sure. She is short, thin and fair with her hair still carrying tinge of black, plaited and tied as a knot at the back of her head low down, almost on her neck. She wears something around her neck, moves barefoot within her home and keeps her foot on the floor unhurriedly, with care. She loves to keep the water tap in the kitchen open while she is in the kitchen and can peel and cut vegetables with the deftness of a master chef. Her home carried the past with photographs on the walls of the living room and in her room. She shows me pictures of her grandson, Joy, the word meaning victory in Bengali language. She laments that she can no longer communicate with him for he does not know Bangla and she cannot speak English well. She believes that her grandson will not appreciate her speaking english unless she spoke the proper way and so all she says to him is, I love you and he says back, I love you too. She knows he has grown taller, she is not sure if his voice is breaking. She knows he is beginning to have a beard and she tells her son that she is uncomfortable with it coming so soon, that he is just 12. She remembers he did not eat well and so when she once got to know from her daughter in law's Mom, that Joy ate something well, she asked her son about it. When he confirmed that Muesli with coconut water cooked by him was well eaten by Joy, she immediately asked the recipe. She recalls how her son, Bobby did not cook or do stuff at home earlier but had learnt to do so much after being married. She thinks everyone must know how to cook at least a few things.