A SIMPLE LIFE

My mum lives, long after she is gone.
I can feel her gentle lingering,
Emitting shafts of light
That went out quietly a decade ago.

In a dusty, creaking drawer in her room,
A fine-toothed comb, a scrunched hair bun.
Hair clips in black, brown, and silver,
Safety pins nestling with hairpins.

A blue box with needle and thread, hooks, buttons.
Forever mending…
Bright red sticky bindis, a hand mirror,
Handkerchiefs washed and carefully folded.

A few feet away in her wardrobe,
A faint rose fragrance rising through the rusty hinges.
A frayed cardigan I had gifted her years ago,
Light pastel saris neatly folded.

Petticoats and blouses to pair with the saris,
Some cotton nightgowns we had shopped for together.
The few jewels and silk saris
Cleared and distributed by my dad in grim, moist-eyed
silence.

The memories frozen in time, preserved in mothballs.
The room untouched by my dad except when we visit.
Mum’s delicate features leaping out of a flower-decked
photo in the hall,
The efficient kitchen she had designed now meagerly
stocked.

Sixty years of a simple life
Rich with dignity and grace.
A soft voice, a ferocious brain
In the memory of a demure gaze, her bright presence
lives on.

———

• Kishore Chandiraani
• Consultant Psychiatrist, Emotions Clinic Education and Training Centre, Staffordshire. England
• www.undoyourstress.com