{Such is a relationship, tied in its strings}

My weekends are primarily dedicated to my grandparents and especially my grandmother who we fondly call Amma. The time I spend with her and her stories inspire me. Her elegant plait that has remained unchanged over the years personifies time and memories to me.

Entangling various strands;
Those make a rhythmic choir;
The oiled nostalgia,
That seeps through unending memories,
With weathered tender fingers,
Running through the swinging hair,
Such is a relationship,
Tied in its strings.

As the day unfolds and time dissolves,
Stories of old Bombay;
Relive their existence.
In her mind play those million voices,
Of India longing for freedom.
Then the pressure cooker whistles;
To this day of life,
When gone is the gone,
But in mind it remains.

Fresh from the cooker;
Come the secret recipes,
Of spices and vessels.
Stories are the same,
Understanding is new.
The evening setting in;
With coffee she likes,
Her bangles cling to the ceramics;
And cookies less sweet.

The plait is still entangled,
As the night creates shadows.
Such is a relationship,
Tied in its strings.
Who wants to be young and old?
Who likes it that way?
We live for the memories,
Like the rigid plait.

And memories drip like the night oil;
And we; like the strings.
And rigid!



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