Nani – I would have called you
if this world had not already
named you Maaji
meaning: mother to us all.
Winter brings endangered memories –
the smell of smoke mixed with fog
from the fire which you lit, to keep us warm
with the wood collected in your Baari –
the orchard you raised and with it
our childhood – the fruitless mango trees
in grand waiting for the summer heat
carrying phantom scents of last season’s
fruits, teasing our palates, enticing us
to wish for an early end of the cruel cold.
In the aangan, the air was flavoured warm
with your spicy achaar and basking bari
under the bright sun – always too hot to bear
while casting icy shadows, holing us
in the house, cuddled under your rough blankets
over the uneven mattress you had shaped
from years of use – while the aroma
of your delectable Bagiya – the rice flour
your hands kneaded smooth, stuffed
with roasted flax seeds and gud –
seeped warmly to coax us out of slumber.
Amongst this sweet nostalgia, the loudest
rings that vivid laughter – never yours
but close – your daughters’ quartet – etched
with force on every wall of your house
a chorus pouring strength to them
and to you, from the pain and hurt festering
since you lost your son to this world
and the hollow that it left in your heart
all those years ago – yet, in time, your shy smile
did return, into a stifled laughter, before
you too left us a hollow – bittering our nostalgia.
Winters now, in your absence
are so tragic, Maaji – morosity in loss
for an end – the flax seeds are burnt
in the fires lit, not by you, from the wood
which lies damp in the Baari out behind
among abandoned trees and us –
the mango buds now clamour to arrive early
and be done with their summer
as though in hope that come winter next
you may too – unaware that the smoke
this time, mixed with fog, is carried
from the ghat, where we last saw you.
Poets often find muses in death –
a muse in the dead – amusing –
I find in your absence: absence
you missing – missing you
this winter, like others
since your going –
I write to mourn
the end of my
memories
with you,
Maaji.
Tejas A. Jha is a student of law, an aspiring writer and photographer, in awe of the world of art, poetry and music.
Featured image credit: Pixabay