Reminiscence

By Kritika Gupta

the sunlight creeps in, in the dimly lit room and makes its way to fall on her face. wrapped in a pashmina shawl, she doesn't look like the majestic tigress she used to be but a child tucked into bed. her unblinking eyes search for something familiar but she can't see her creation standing right in front of her. she tries to fall asleep but the rocking chair underneath her creaks of old age. the smell of home-made achaar momentarily eludes me and I take a dive into the deep, hidden memories of life's innocence. I am sitting in the verandah and she's rubbing jasmine oil in my roots and I smile looking at those long, articulated fingers well working as a weaver's.

she's singing in the garden

and all the birds join her

probably to taunt me

that you can never sing like us.

I make my first tea

and she praises it like

it's nothing she's ever tasted

but indeed she hasn't

because salt and sugar

can't taste the same.

something pulls me back to reality and I realize,

it's her voice

barely a whisper,

she says something

which screams in my soul even today.

w𝘩𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘶?

By Kritika Gupta