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Vibha Balaji


I wasn’t sure Joevin would come back for the funeral. I knew he loved Thatha. We all did. But loving someone does not always mean you are nice to them. It’s what Thatha tells me last May, when I was sulky and still in the throes of what would soon become a recurring sensation. Joevin had just left us for Winnipeg, and I was smarting from my poorly designed impressions of grief. ‘You are an intelligent girl,’ Thatha tells me. ‘Why must you be upset about this?’ I hurl myself onto the massive recliner in front of him. ‘It’s just unfair.’ ‘What’s unfair?’ Thatha asks, pausing to rummage around the medicine cabinet for his evening pills. ‘This situation,’ ‘You mean Jovi going back?’ ‘No, I mean about him having two homes,’ Thatha looks at me softly. He has always been frail, more bones…