I still see the boy in the baggy trousers playing in the sand,
With a rubber ball in one hand, and in the other my tiny hand.
‘Hold hands so that you don’t lose each other,’ Mum screams from the gate.
The four-toothed grin of my favourite playmate.

I still see the boy with the ‘lucky’ green wrist band,
Who crossed the street with me on the first day of school- hand in hand.
And tugged at my neat pigtails from the bench behind me,
The mischievous smile of a schoolboy- so carefree.

I still see the boy with the bow tie, standing six feet tall,
Who held my hand as we made our way across the resplendent hall.
We danced and swayed till the clock declared it time to part,
The dreamy, flirtatious smile of a high school sweetheart.

Now, I see the man in the turquoise suit so grand,
As man and wife they leave the church; he gently holds her hand.
‘…hold hands so that you don’t lose each other,’
The desolate smile of a helpless narrator.

The death of a mother, the departure of a father
A new family sans laughter-not a murmur.
Her ‘favourite’ food, polite dinner conversation.
Plunged into an ocean of fake likes.

Crushed dreams; words unsaid she kept,
Feelings and thoughts under a rug of misery swept.
Almond eyes so deep- they drowned seas.
Swimming in an ocean of fake likes.

Quiet prayers and hopes, tears never set free.
A mother’s gentle kiss now a distant memory.
‘It’s just the way I like it, Miss Lily.’ Cue polite smile.
Floating in an ocean of fake likes.

Head held a little too high, a tired smile on her face.
Pretty as a picture, not a hair out of place.
A facade so strongly rehearsed, yet so weak.
Drowning in an ocean of fake likes.

'Grandmama, who is he?' the pretty, wide-eyed lass asked.
A grimace set on his lips; in his wrinkles stories were masked.
‘My child, look closely- it is your grand Grandpapa you behold.’
As Grandmama studied the painting, no longer did she look old.

'Tell me more, Grandmama!' A curious young lass was she.
‘Well darling child, here’s a tale- pray listen carefully.
When I was your age, young girls were made to clean and cook.
I was not sent to school, and never had I laid eyes on a book.

My father was a teacher, though he never did teach me,
One day during class, I was sent to serve him his evening tea.
He was father’s star pupil; the fateful month was May.
Our eyes met for the first time, and never could I look away…

The next day after class, together we snuck off gleefully,
Talking excitedly, hand in hand, we hopped from tree to tree.
Over two months, he presented me with a gift I really did need,
Armed with passion, he taught me how to write and read.

"…your daughter like a good Hindu girl must behave, Sir"
Villagers had too many eyes and ears; the rest was all a blur.
For his star pupil, Father’s classes no longer had room.
I was kept locked; the family hastily searched for a bridegroom.

The man they found was ugly, disrespectful, and arrogant,
Your Grandpapa found out; through my window a note he sent.
“Run away with me, my pearl. Life without you is lifeless”
That note was a bugle- it awoke me from my distress, oh yes…

We got married in a small temple and ran far, far away,
For three lovely years, there was not a melancholy day.
Alas my cruel father was not one to admit defeat, and so
Grandpapa was gone; baby in my arms, I was a helpless widow.'

'Grandmama, don't cry! Grandpapa is watching from above.'
‘Child, heed my advice: never must you be afraid to fall in love.’
The young girl studied the painting again- staring quite a while.
She could swear Grandpapa’s lips were now curled into a smile.

Chirruping birds lay in wait; as we passed, the flowers flushed,
Frivolously through the woods we ran- heads occasionally kissed by the dew,
In my petite hand, a rose red of hue, the fountains of love loudly gushed.
As Spring cast her spell, nothing would change, I knew.

The cruel scorching sun, the scathing hot winds a cruel blow delivered,
Gravely, she shook her head, reassuring words the Doctor sought.
A pearl of sweat adorned his brow- he feared.
As Summer dawned, nothing would change, I thought.

The bitterly cold flakes of snow, the surging sinister cold,
His beautiful eyes, shut, were shielded while I wept and moped.
The blink of an eye; the reassuring smile he attempted spoke of a heart of gold,
As Winter imposed, nothing would change I hoped.

The leaves tearfully from the naked trees parted,
A surrendering smile, my name on his lips grew,
The final breath, our bond severed- his bed away was carted.
As Fall struck, everything would change, I knew.

Come spring, she leaped across the grassy dune,
Beaming with sheer joy as she hummed a halcyon tune.
Her beauteous almond eyes- the biggest, the brightest.
A bonnie spotted doe in her warm, homely forest

Come summer, by her gushing little lake she played.
When upon a solitary, pensive buck her eyes she laid.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While his eyes curiously lingered, hers wandered on ahead.

Come monsoon, he adored her eyes, her gilded coat, her bushy tail.
The passionate warmth in her eyes with affection made him frail.
Yet, she went on with her blissful life- devoid of any care.
Oblivious of the buck who always stopped to stare.

Come winter, by his side chattering happily she grazed.
Soon, his feelings faded; by almond eyes no longer crazed.
Like currents in the water, apart they drifted and drifted.
New lake. Nonchalant silence. No words were said.

Come fall, she found that he still leaped through her mind.
The emotion she once scoffed in her heart now enshrined.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While her dull eyes wistfully lingered, his wandered on ahead.

Our pretty white house; the grand grey gates stood proud,
The blood-red roses, the lilac petunias; myriad flora- every hue, every kind.
The endearing blue sky, many a vagabond white cloud,
The colors of my youth lived on, embossed in my mind…

The joyous peals of laughter in the aureate beach, as tides swept by,
Ma, her orange dress bright, tracing the path of each bubbly wave,
Mauve, ochre and yellow merged, embellishing the canvas of the transforming sky,
Of those days-vivid red love, countless memoirs- I will ever rave.

My bonny bride in her lovely white dress; exuberant, free as a bird,
The dash of pink that adorned her cheeks when “I do,” she said,
The rage, the lividity- a sinister crimson; she had left without a word,
The blues we’d painfully endured, as Ma lay on her death bed…

The aged white house-home no more, now lay brown and sore,
No more of the red roses, lilac petunias- life of any kind,
The rusted brown gates-eternally shut, stood with pride no more,
The colors of my youth fading- embossed only in my mind…