HOW OLD WAS SHE?



How old was she,
none knew for sure.

When they were kids,
she was there tending them.

When they had kids,
she was still there,
playing with them.

How old are you Kurumba?
someone would ask her.

“You tell me kiddo,
how old I am.
I was born on a night
when the moon was
smiling full lipped
in the crown of the sky.

I am older than your ma
and grandma too.
Now you calculate.”

None knew the magic
of calculating the age of one
born on a full moon night,
one of those yonder years.

At some point of time
age had frozen on her.

Kurumba was all smiles
and a lone dream.

She wanted to leave in style
if not live in style.

She proudly dreamt
of her body wrapped
in soft red silk shawls,
one from each child
she tended, on her day
of final departure.

The soft silk shawls,
all in red, from three
generations of sheer love
wrapped her body in style.

Scanning the glorious finale
from ethereal heights,
silent tears of joy
rolled down her cheeks,
showering down
a warm rain, in summer shine.