Dheedhi counts days with a sparkle in her heart.
She hopes to melt her ice-cold loneliness in the warmth of a party.
She buys a washing machine.
Pickle of mango peel, piquant beef, banana chips…
She packs all with pizzazz.
But her daughter foresees shards of shame protruding from ma's
mannerisms.
Outworn ways, the ill-mannered slurps, unrefined words…
"Tomorrow's function's limited, ma.
I'll come to pick you another day."
Deedhi's lips tremble and eyes become moist.
Several desires disappear silently in the Bermuda triangle of generation gap.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem