the familiar jingling of bangles,
a smile too caring to miss out.
Not a care about the world outside,
I lie on the bed snuggled next to my sister.
Listening to the only male voice
humming Hemant Kumar's and Rafi's,
ironing our white shirts, blue tunics
and adding a glisten to our black school shoes.
I open my eyes to the wafting smells of filter coffee
and the shrill hiss of the idli cooker,
lingering tastes of early years.
Each formative emotion of mine;
resonating with warmth supplied by them.
The close warmth spreading to our cups of Bournvita,
cooled to room temperature on foggy mornings
in the small town of Orissa.
We sisters, slurp to the sounds of ding ding
reverberating from the ring on Nana's finger
and rush to pack our school bags
to start another new day.
The peals of laughter and the giggles over the table;
devouring lip-smacking love served on our plates
day in and day out, reminiscent that life is so beautiful.
Lying on the folding cots on the terrace;
against the background score of the giant factory fan
accompanying the songs of the Vivid Bharathi.
Catching up and sharing stories of the day passed,
the close-knit family's time slips into oblivion
as eyes droop for a cozy night under the summer stars.
Each passing year taking me far and far away
from
the town, the house, the steps and the terrace
now all tucked in the corner of my aging heart.
Peeping out every time I glance at the mirror,
the grey hairs' squint out of my thin mane
My childhood and my growing years,
where did I leave you?
No comments:
Post a Comment