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When I came back to my village, I saw my grandmother in tears. I was surprised, for I had never seen her cry even in the most diffcult situations. What had happened? I was worried. ‘Avva, is everything all right? Are you okay?’
I used to call her Avva, which means mother in the Kannada spoken in north Karnataka. She nodded but did not reply. I did not understand and forgot about it. In the night, after dinner, we were sleeping in the open terrace of our house. It was a summer night and there was a full moon. Avva came and sat next to me. Her affectionate hands touched my forehead.
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