Nobody can be her

There are some people in our lives whose love feels so ordinary while we are living in it, that we don’t realise how special it was until we grow older.For me, that person was my dadi.

For me, that person was my dadi.She had her own way of loving me. It wasn’t always through big words or dramatic gestures. Sometimes it was simply the way she would notice whether I had eaten. The way she would keep something aside for me because she knew I liked it. The way she would call my name from another room just to check where I was.

As a child, I didn’t think much about these things. I thought that was simply what grandmothers did.Now I realise it was her way of saying, “You matter to me.”

She knew my little habits, my moods, my likes and dislikes. Somehow, she could tell when something was wrong even when I said I was completely fine. Her presence made ordinary days feel warmer.

I still remember how safe everything felt around her. I could be childish, annoying, stubborn, talkative or completely silent, and somehow I was still loved exactly the same.

Growing up changes the way you understand people. Things that once seemed small suddenly become the memories you hold closest.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to those days—not to change anything, but simply to notice her love more carefully.I wish I had understood that the food she saved, the questions she asked, the little scoldings, the endless concern and even the repetitive advice were all pieces of something I would one day miss terribly.

People often say nobody loves you like your mother.But I think every kind of love has its own language.

My dadi spoke hers through warmth, care and countless little things.And no matter how many people I meet in life, nobody can be her.

Nobody can take her place.Because some people don’t just become memories.They become a part of who you are.