I don't know when this spoon came to be in his possession. In the thirty-one summers of my life, I have always felt its presence. Over the years, the spoon has been a part of the kitchen, tossed with knives, ladles and other kitchen paraphernalia. It lived in his writing desk too. Whenever I asked him to come for lunch or dinner, he would take out his spoon. It never left his side. If there was a backstory to this particular piece of cutlery, I don't know of it. He took it everywhere he went.

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