I often wonder
how old were you,
or what was your name.
From the carefully draped cotton duppataas
I could see your grandmother eyes
watching the maneouvers of the little one
in the balcony.
Or sometimes on
exceptionally quiet summer afternoons
hear you sing softly some old devotional song.
You smiled at me once
as you fed some pigeons
and the little one played alongside.
Yesterday it was another lady
probably a daughter or a daughter-in-law
doing the same,
and then it hit me some where
where it did hurt
That you had passed away a few days ago
and for me now
you will always remain
the old lady in flat 1-B.
Orange Flower Awards
Readers Loved These
I write about
2015 love April Blogging challenge daughter life memories women death girls hindi dad 2014 gender ratio soul poetry mom childhood death loneliness alone priyamvada delhi loneliness words. thoughts child words.thoughts Stream of consciousness heart rape answers lessons mother woman poet birthday blog women's day contest HAIKU blogoversary discrimination festival friends grief loss me memories mind papa religion sexual harrasment shimla winter cities lonely mom dad pain questions sufi writer diwali freedom god men patriarchy random thoughts sad violence brothers fear fog grandfather grandmother hope kids motherhood ritual summers writing basho book chandigarh children emily eyes facebook hills home husband kerouac light miss new year nostalgia paradoxes remember school sonee BOY WISHES dreams fairytale family freeze independence day jagjit singh longing nobody pyar rain reading shame short story worship 2011 9/11 GADGETS Ruskin Bond TV aazadi autumn colour daughter's day first frenemy happy history human joys kashmir krishna leader mother's day nest opposites plant small son teachers thoughts toddlers tragedy tree virginia woolf wife 2012 2013 Haider her tea