He was a wonderful grandfather to me. His jokes were superior, his bonds were unbreakable, and his eyes were as warm as can be.
By Ankit Mukherjee – Dedicated to Asesh Dasgupta , the most loving grandfather one could have!
I have a grandfather.
His name is Asesh. Asesh Dasgupta.
He makes jokes. He likes dill pickles. He likes to sleep.
One day, he had a brain tumor. He went to the hospital.
I talked with him before the surgery, and played him some piano. He liked it. Then, he had the operation.
He was fine, after.
Then, one day, I find out
I had a grandfather.
His name was Asesh. Asesh Dasgupta.
He made jokes. He liked dill pickles. He liked to sleep. One day, he got to sleep forever.
I wonder if there are pickles in heaven.
The whistle screams, the pentagons on the soccer ball blur like the player controlling it. Fans cheer on the side line shouting nasty remarks or flattering compliments. When somebody scores they slide on the ground yelling, “Yes”. The second half comes and goes and the final whistle ends the game.