Every time Laya opened her late paternal grandfather’s cupboard, she could feel the tears beginning to form somewhere within the emotions. It had been years since his presence was gone, but the wish to see him smiling once more never quite faded.
Laya was using a large section of the cupboard now to keep her belongings, while at a corner some of her grandfather’s things were kept along with his flute. He was quite good at playing it, the house remembered his early morning and late evening practise. It wasn’t something he did from his younger years but rather something he picked up after his retirement.
It was a time long away from smartphone cameras and thus Laya wished she had persuaded her father to get her a video camera, because a lot she would have loved to look back on was gone, especially the sounds.
Laya would try to play the flute on some days after college. But she couldn’t get the hang of it and no one she knew had any clue about how to play it. But once in a while she would get a note or two right and for a second there it would feel like grandfather once again, and in that moment the familiar feeling spread once again through the smiling memory.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 
One response to “A Smiling Memory”
This piece is tender, intimate, and quietly powerful. Through simple details—a cupboard, a flute, half-caught notes—it captures the way grief lingers not loudly, but gently, in everyday objects and moments. The memory of the grandfather lives not just in recollection, but in sound, absence, and longing, which makes the loss feel deeply personal and real.
What stands out is the subtle way time is handled: the contrast between a world without smartphone recordings and the ache of wanting to preserve sounds that can never be replayed. The flute becomes more than an instrument—it is a bridge between past and present, memory and emotion. The closing moments, where a single correct note brings the grandfather briefly back to life, are especially moving.
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