Sunday, April 22, 2012

Thakuma'r ghoogni.

I secretly tried to count the number of medicines in that ruffled plastic bag. Many. Many more than many. Too many, infact. Too many for a lady.

I sit there with my cold drink as her wrinkles mould her face and she tells me of the things old age does and the suffering it brings. I've always missed out on social cues.
But this one with
her frail hands in the air,
her pallid sari falling lightly on the pockets of fat sitting on her elbow,
her diluted cold drink with it's inconspicuous fizz shivering,
and her mouth mumbling;
something about how she doesn't get to see her son anymore,
or how she may never see her weak brother in Bombay again,
how everyone she knows is slowly dying.
This one;
I just have to sit,
stir my Cola
and force myself to count the number of years I still have, to reach her age.

Too many for a lady.

5 comments:

Jack said...

Adrita,

What has made you go into such sad mode these days? Do share, please.

Take care

AD. said...

Haha, it's nothing. I'm perfectly fine. :)

Aadhar said...

what is ghoogni ?
The years in between seem so irrelevant at face value.

Meher said...

Sigh. Old age does seem distant.

AD. said...

Ghoogni is a bengali dish.

Thakuma= Grandmother (father's side.)