And this is almost over. Mood at my parents’ is dispirited, as always is when departure is near. Conversation dulls, looks avert eyes, practicalities about the journey raise as melancholy takes hold of the place.

Years ago they still harbored hope we would come back to settle for good. Time gradually and painfully wore that hope off.

Tomorrow my mother will say goodbye to us standing in the doorway, and then she’ll silently cry. My father will take us to the railway station and see us off from the platform, and then he’ll silently cry.

And M. on the train will hush for a long time and then will silently cry.