It was the beginning of a new chapter in my life, in a city called Aligarh. Known for the legendary Aligarh Muslim Society, with which my family tree has entwined its roots. My root had reached the age where I came to join the university as well. It was during the scalding hot summers, where even the breeze would roast a part of you, I would say that's what roasted us brown. The bustling yet gleaming city had too much to offer for my eyes, and I needed some black shades to shield my eyes. From the golden sun and perhaps from masked people as well. People dressed like foxes for a sheep. My father took me to a shop where the owner was sweeter and brighter than the Royal Poinciana of the Flame tree which embellished Aligarh in the blazing summers. I was too timid to use the sun shades I already had, so as to avoid sticking out like a sore thumb. I already felt like an outcast stuck in the third space in a city which was supposed to be my home. It reminded me of the transience of life and the pain of getting attached to places and people. The owner pulled out a wide array of sunshades, all of varying sizes. The one that caught my eye made me look like Jhonny Bravo and thats one I decided to keep. The owner then spoke with the softest voice ridden heavy with the weight of sorrow. He told me I resembled his beloved daughter who had passed away. I was about her age and my excitement synched with hers. The setting brought in a flood of memories in him with the countless days he would bring the best sun shades for his daughter, to shield her from the sun and the foxes. Even though people leave, their existence still blazes on in those who love them. It is almost as if they never left because a beloved's cup or choice in sun shades reminds you of them. It plays a montage in your head of all the evenings you spent having tea with them. Memories so vivid you can smell the aroma of the tea leaves swirling in the air and hear the echoes of your beloved’s euphonious giggles and smiles sweeter than jalebis. It painfully snags onto your face and its heaviness makes you cry by reminding you of all the fun summer days you hung out with them, where they shone brighter than the sun in your monochromatic life. I got the black shades of grief as a gift from the uncle who was as like a flame tree as I was like his daughter. His brimming love could never exchange such an object of value for a piece of flimsy filthy paper like money. That's the tragedy of life: you keep living like a burning flame until you fade, but your beloved catches your spark, and then they burn with grief and memories. Time may pass, the beloved may pass but love is something so heavy, it blazes on until the afterlife.