The red and beige chequered piece of a cloth tied in the
coal black dripping wet hair…
The odd astray lock of hair and drops of water trickling
down her neck seeping through her thin cotton blouse…mingling with her sweat in
the sweltering Indian heat
Slowly humming some sweet melody and cooking a spicy fish
curry or some dal…
As I walk around stomping my feet for almost everything and
nothing she looks up… exasperated mostly still sympathetic…
Busy as ever but she has time…at least for me always…
With a steaming cup of black tea to pacify me… just when I need
it…and a smile that always made me feel ‘it’s all gonna be ok’
The soft firm support which has been there… no matter what
I stand in the kitchen and listen to the crackling mustard
seeds and miss her everyday…
She’s but just a phone call away…but I miss her…
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