By Nithil Js
Nani, Nani, are you still making pickle and jam?
While Ma sits quiet, her hands just slam
The walls, the floor, she doesn’t speak,
And Pa’s not back. It’s been a week.
Nani, Nani, are you still making pickle and jam?
The sun feels dull, the world a sham.
Ma won’t eat, she’s locked her door,
She stares at nothing on the floor.
Nani, Nani, are you still making pickle and jam?
I heard they shot him near the dam.
They said it softly, like it was small
He prayed a prayer, that’s all. That’s all.
Nani, Nani, are you still making pickle and jam?
The neighbors whisper. The streets are calm.
But nothing’s right, the air feels torn
And you’ve been gone since early morn.
Why was he shot for what he said?
He brought us food. He knelt, he bled.
He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t wild.
He was just my father. I’m just a child.
Now silence grows where stories ran.
The world has crumbled, but the jars still stand.
And all I hold, in trembling hand,
Is Nani’s pickle and jam.