In this evocative poem Smita compares the two worlds of her grandmothers and her’s. A powerful woman-centric poem.
Both my grandmothers Were married off in their teens; Bhuvaneshwari at fourteen, Damyanti at fifteen, Both, to men already married once. Both my grandmas Wiped off their tears Somewhere on the long road From native village to new home, Grit their teeth, Gave up their childhood. Both my grandmothers Fetched water in brass pots From the river, from the nearest spring, A mile away and up, up, up A steep rugged slope. Both my grandmothers Gave birth at sixteen And lost that first child . . . Both my grandmothers Managed large joint families, Suffered at the hands of Illiterate and cruel housemates, Both my grandmums Usually ate after The goats and cows had been fed . . . The eyes of my grandmas Lighted up, each time I Stood first in class, Won a prize for Quizzing, Singing, Physics. Both my grandmums Would have me become an Indira Gandhi or Lata Mangeshkar . . . Within the span of a century I have cast off roles Assigned to grandmas. I cook when I want to I clean when I feel like Hostile people don't bother me. I worry of Libya Talk at length on corruption I trek, I travel, I drive, I invest I buy cars, land, jewellery, I write, Poems commemorating Grandmummies.
Image design by Anumita Roy and Different Truths
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