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The Story of Mogra… ????
I was quite close to my Mausaji (maternal uncle), as a kid. He used to always bring long garlands of Mogra flowers (Gajra) home and hang them on the air conditioner, so the entire room would smell of them. Our families used to be engrossed in conversation with that sweet scent. It was my happy place. He was the kindest man I’ve ever known, and he used to adore and pamper me. Whenever we stayed over at his place, he used to put me to sleep by rubbing my temples lightly with his fingers, while they continued to indulge in conversations till dawn. Years have passed by, but the scent of those flowers and the warmth in that room have stayed with me. This is a little something in his memory. ❤️