Stories

Now several years after the death of my grandfather, his medals continue to live in a rectangular wooden box in my grandmother’s house.

She gingerly opened the cover and pressed those keys with a glee that hadn’t graced her face for years. There had been nothing or so little to look forward to for all these long years.

As an adult, I often visited my mother on the weekends and every time she saw me without surma, she applied it immediately and always in a typical and familiar manner.