I miss myself and everything about me and about Onam that I knew and adored. One’s heart is empty as though someone stole a big chunk of Onam from you and it happens every year. Onam the lover you always cherished in your childhood, in your teens, in your youth and even in your marriage, who knocked at your door every year to remind you that you can still be nostalgically in love with Onam the lover in your heart. A secret lover of your heart.
With teary eyes and a heavy heart, I wish another Onam did not knock at my door, and paradoxically, same time cherish this feeling of missing myself and Onam – the lost festival of my heart.