Dadi
Dadi
Sitting on the doorstep,
She looks at me with her loving eyes.
So weary, I ponder,
They seem to be holding so many mysteries.
They abound with untold tales,
I wonder.
I vow to myself; these stories, I shall hear someday, as she cajoles me to sleep.
She shields me from Rani’s slaps,
Every now and then.
She now snaps at me in a language; melodious song it seems at first.
But quickly it reaches a crescendo of all too familiar words which my ears were accustomed to.
Coming from the magnate of our family,
the revered one; who toils from 7 to 7 and can hardly stands a sound when he is back.
I feel the two have made a pact of some sort;
Otherwise why would they use the same disgruntled mellifluous words,
When they were cross.
Bemused I go on with the task at hand
Oiling the silver-haired roly-poly Dadi’s threads.
Yearning for another round of discordant bitterly words,
Strange why I found them amusingly endearing.
Cheekily I pulled her hair harder this time
With clumps of it ending on my sweaty palms.
Here they come the shower of the much-anticipated jingling jingling words.
Copyright © Natasha Hurreeram-Boyjonauth | Year Posted 2021
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