Maa sits on the swing in the balcony,
Humming a tune from some old Bollywood movie,
And I think to myself,
When did I last see her so calm and peaceful.
But I have seen her hum before, haven’t I?
When she does the things she loves,
When she works,
When she cooks,
Almost all the time.
Or have I been just too busy to notice?
She’s had a song for every mood,
And mind you, she sings really good,
Oh! But she’s good at a lot of things,
If I sat and wrote, the list would be never ending.
My childhood was spent under the canopy,
Of her magnanimous selfless attitude,
And as I see her now on that swing,
My head bows down in gratitude.
I’ve always revered her style and poise,
Always admired her warmth and grace,
But if I had to sum it all up at length,
This woman, my mother, is an idol of strength.
She’s had her share of troubles,
And she has not winced,
At times when she stood up for herself,
Her words were not minced.
I’ve seen her taking care of dad,
And I sometimes find her,
Looking at his picture and smile,
Conversing maybe, with him, in her mind.
And I wonder, as she hums today,
What memories invade her mind and stay,
How much she’d be missing dad,
Each moment of every day.
But my doubt was cleared as my brother came home that evening,
She smiled at him from her perch on the swing,
Maa called out to him and said, “Son,
You remind me of my favourite person!”
Wabi Sabi 