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In an enigmatic personal poem, Kavita recalls how her husband remembered his father – exclusively for Different Truths.
For three weeks after his father died His son, now my husband, Told me he could not stop Inhaling the fragrance of his shirts Hanging in the old Godrej cupboard, Each day he’d open the cupboard Put his nose to the shirts, taking a deep whiff. I asked him why he did that ‘It was the only way to bring him back,’ he said His father was only fifty-two His son just twenty-one. I had never met him But as we stood in the kitchen Drinking our tea The warmth of hard work and kindness Wafted in through the windows Brought in by rays of sunshine.
Picture design by Anumita Roy
Beautiful and touching. Cannot fail to strike a chord with those that cherish the memory of their departed elders
The simplicity of the poem makes the power of the feelings even more intense. It resonates so much with me . Even after 4 years, i bury my nose not just into the clothes of my son but other things he had like his wallet or his satchel, trying desperately to bring my boy back. It brings tears to my throat and eyes and chokes me. But still i try.
Thank you for sharing such a beautiful poem.