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.
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