By Udita Banerjee
The summer winds started changing its course.
Now the red roses started blooming.
The little twigs wore their verdant shield.
Moss, a velvet woven, filled the yard.
And the rust, a copper bloom, stained varanda bars.
Still everything remains same.
My eyes open with the
shrill of the alarm clock
I just get out of the bed.
Freshen up.
Have a cup of steamed tea,
Made my morning mood.
"Come on, hurry up. You'll be getting late.''
I look back.
Only I manage to get the
twin daggers of the clock:
7:30
I rush to the bathroom.
And yes, I take the towel.
This time she never reminds.
"What's for breakfast?"
My sudden high rise voice
broke the monotony of the silent room.
No reply. Mom may be busy on terrace.
I bring the egg sandwich.
Slices of cucumber, red tomato ketchup.
And yes, the banana.
This time she never reminds.
I get ready with pastel cyan shirt,
White socks
Black shoes
Wear the dark blue tie
With a perfect knot.
And set out.
And yes, I take the lunch box.
Though she never reminds.
" Have you completed your presentation yesterday? "
"Almost done, Sir. It will be completed today by twelve."
I plunge into the heavy responsibilities.
circumscribed into the hours, relentless, a grinding wheel;
By twelve..by three...by five....
The evening lights descend.
I destine to bus stop, ingest some dusty air, a gritty grouse.
Toddling on the weary way,
I grasp my phone:
"Hello mom, am coming home"
Cut it without waiting for her reply.
The night is deep, dark, serene.
Now I'm done with all house chores.
Stand still in front of my mom.
Sixty days passed.
She's still smiling at me
and will be forever.
I smile back.
In the shallow rays of bed side lamp
She is looking at me
with her mesmerised abyssal eyes.
I never give her any garland,
I hug her wooden frame tight.
Kiss on her forehead.
The hard brown shell gets softer with my tears.
She muffles my reckless heart.
Swabs my warm showers with her
sharp woody pricks.
But, I'm never hurt.
"Good night my beautiful mom"
I close my eyes.
Switch off the light.
Does she wish me?
Does she sing a lullaby, a phantom tune?
Her voice, a silent, missing chord.
Have you heard?
Yes. She never forgets.