By the time I began attending college, Aunt had built a house of her own. Although it was not luxurious, it was cosy and decent. For four years, most of my expenses for studying and living were borne by her since my parents were poor farmers with a large family. Aunt was still young, I was in my late teens, and I became closer to her than to my mother. I visited her often, usually on holidays, travelling the long distance between my college and the heart of the town. There were many times I buried my face in her bosom and cried my eyes out. “You can realise its problems only when you are in love,” she said. “Weep to your heart’s content, but don’t be disappointed.”