In the Summer...With Her

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Sunlight is peering in through the crack
and is throwing patterns on the mud walls.
I am curled up on the mat reminiscing
about the dream from last night.
Outside, I hear everyday chores breaking
the silence of the summer morning.
I lazily get up and go to the kitchen
still holding the ruffled pillow.
I see my grandma
bent over the earthen stove
blowing through the metal pipe.
Her eyes are wet from the smoke
and she is wiping her cheeks with
the red border of her yellow sari.
Her wet hair wound up in a towel
is tucked behind her neck.
Drops from a loose strand is wetting
the sleeve of her cotton blouse.
She shifts a little to adjust her silver anklets
and sees me watching her, smiles.
“You are up?”
She brings my tea in a stainless steel glass,
takes the pillow from my hand
and kisses my forehead.
She dusts the loose strands of thread
from my shirt and smoothens my hair.
I kiss her, her skin soft against my lips
And she runs her hand on my face.
I take my tea outside and sit on the veranda:
the first sun of my vacation is already up.

The goats are on their way to the hills,
the shepherds, with sticks in their hands
are walking behind them, still yawning.
Bare backed men, driving the cows,
are headed to the fields to the south.
Smiling women in colorful saris
stand at the old municipal bore-well.
Their uncombed hair catches the sunlight
and creates a golden maze.
The saris, tucked at their waists
end four inches above the ground
reveal their bare feet and bony ankles.
Sunlight pierces the plastic pot
under the tap and I can see
the level of water rising inside.
Little girls in blue skirts and white blouses
are on there way to the school.
Their red ribbons sit like butterflies
on the white jasmine flirting at their necks.
Old men with walking sticks and thick glasses
are sitting under the panchayat tree.
Two young men, neem sticks in their mouth,
are cycling towards the village stream,
Little naked ones are playing in the street
some of them sucking on their dirty thumbs.
Five summers have passed since the last time
I sat on this veranda and watched a similar morning.

I hear her anklets behind me
and turn to look at her.
The towel is gone and
her hair is pulled back in a bun.
She looks younger.
I notice some unwashed turmeric
on her neck and reach out to wipe it,
she holds my hand and wipes it herself
and again brushes my hair
“Won’t you grow them?”
I smile my answer and reach for a hug
My hand brushes against the jasmine.
I watch as two flowers come loose
And fall next to her feet.
She shyly leaves the embrace, smiles
“Water is ready”.


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