By Prarthana Devi
A sullen sunday morning and five minutes to 6:00,
A dented scooty on my peripheral sight,
A bony structure riding it.
“The train arrived early this time!”
I nodded to whatever he said, just how I always do.
We got our car in later years,
So Papa never learnt to drive,
The younger me wouldn't appreciate this -
Our diminishing gap in between the ride.
Came back home to an unkempt garden,
Folded Mekhelas stacked on a chair,
Maa said it's convenient this way;
Though the reason was my sister's absence -
Now married to a different state.
The eldest one amongst the three, then dada and I,
“She won't be coming for Bihu this time”
Maa said and dada joined,
“Flight tickets must've been high.”
He took the luggage from my hands,
A skinnier him, now with yellow puffy eyes.
A cabinet loaded with pithas and snacks,
But my sister and I don't squabble anymore,
She gives me the larger piece and I give her back mine,
Whenever we happen to visit around the same time;
Often reminded “She is a guest now!”
So we both try to show our best etiquette.
A Verandah as quiet as a Puja Pandal,
Right after the Visarjan on the 10th day,
Nothing like our old house, the one I didn't like -
With a noisy silver rooftop on a pouring monsoon night;
Taking our turns to empty the buckets when full,
Yet five of us clustered, laughing in one single room.
The only dream then was to have a better house,
The one that we have today -
A new dining table with different dine in times,
Shiny new dishware to compensate frequent fights,
A sturdy roof on the top with tangible abundance beneath,
Concrete rooms for everyone separating all our needs,
Oh! What a quiet way to spend my holidays,
I didn't even hear it had been raining.