A laboured life but a graceful one,
The well oiled plait till her hips,
Not anymore lustrous
As it would have been in her prime.
Seems to me, she learnt dance,
The big bindi and the graceful wrists,
The faded cotton sari and the narrow waist ,
Arms as slender but not deprived.
The handsome toddler and she
Chatter and stroll in the twilight,
Her unfailing vanity on her shoulder -
The smallish grey purse has seen it all.
The sky is overcast, the earth is thirsty.
Little men make brisk business.
The flames crackle, the tea boils.
Some want it fast despite no hurry.
Little boy wants a roast cob,
Grandma wants some adorning flowers.
Hand-in-hand, smiles of satisfaction,
The winsome-twosome hitch a ride for half a mile.
The smell of coconut and the waft of jasmine,
And, baby shampoo and milk-rice,
Left me wondering at dear life
Where is my grandma and my little boy?