I remember my grandmother sitting on the verandah, talking to herself and reliving her life backwards during those days.
Of
fallen petals and dried down fountains
Of
fulfilled desires and unfulfilled dreams
Of silent
summers and trips up the mountains
Of
the old mirror and its powders and creams
Of
the village’s tales and long forgotten stories
Of
a bandaged leg and the terrible fall
Of
the marriage vows and the kitchen curries
Of
‘Ma’ and ‘Baba’, and the photo on the wall
Of
the treasured memories of married life
Of
the first word she taught him to write
Of
the joys and tears of a mother and a wife
Of
the bond she shared with him till ‘white’
