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MY OLD LADY

By Gagana N M


To the woman with the wrinkled skin and salt-pepper colour hair.

The one that showed me the moon to empty my plate and counted stars together until we missed the count.

She sang me lullaby until I fell asleep.

She created a swing with her saree that I played in, all the evenings.

She waited for the summer so I visited her; she restlessly cooked all sorts of food for me. Her smile was sweeter than the sweets she made. And at the end of the summer, I could compare myself with a baby panda.

The voice blended with the song from the radio was soothing to hear, tricking my brain that the radio songs were useless! I wore dresses with pockets to her home so I could hide the money she gave me!

Feeding the chickens, cows and dogs on her farm she used to tell me the stories back from her days; how her kids troubled her, who are now my parents! Yes, the woman I'm talking about, I call her 'GRANDMA'; a strong woman who has faced the world with an innocent heart!


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