Comments about Mandira Chattopadhyay
The mother clutched at her emaciated form,
The baby lay limply in her arm.
Can she blame the world, or, only herself?
Who can bring her baby back to her healthy self?
My child, her inner being weep
Can I ever make you walk, or will you creep?
God, give all my health to her,
So I may her weakness bear.
The mother aged and bent now,
Follows her infirm daughter like a tow.
Praying to God does help sometimes,
Worry and anxiety, though gnaws at her minds.
Who will care when she goes?
So she wants to live a long, long life, she...