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An evocative poem, by Deeya, exclusively for Different Truths.
is an art, a narrow escape
to the winding alleys of the mind
My Nani’s hands trembled
her brocade sarees of age with unparalleled sequins, her zarda
She often spilled things around
when phlegm seized her in bouts
even her pistachios and almonds
the humming winds, chill and sonorous
my cousin’s dropping head her plaits
speculating this winter our octogenarian Grandpa
his wobbly words trapped in his toothless gums like a frozen knuckle
Here back home, the Krishnachura spills fire
the summer carnival brazen and hollow
nestling of sparrows, the koel the respite
that is
Nani’s nankhatais celebrate the flavour of India
the labour, her secrets to Grandpa’s heart
the way she kneaded and baked
tucked in sequestered cans
before she gave us
Today, the wind lulls her loss to us and Grandpa.
Photo from the Internet
Feature picture: pinterest.com painting by sooch
