Source : Hindu Business Line – BLINK – MAHEK JANGDA
Dear Khalida,
It has been three years
Since I last saw the light
That inhabits your eyes
Or at least used to
I’m not sure
Which would make me happier
That the light
Is still the beautiful speck of golden it used to be
Or that it has dimmed
Because you
Are not at home anymore
Because I
Am not your home anymore.
The one time that your father
Visited this
One-room
Bare walled
Windowless
House
You were only seven years old
I remember, Khalida
That memory is imprinted onto my heart
Like the dried marigolds
You soaked in kumkum
And haldi
And the blue ink
You extracted out of your pen by shaking it
Till its reserves of resilience ran out
And in equal distances
Pressed the flowers
Onto the four grey concrete walls
So our house wouldn’t look
That colourless anymore
And you could show your father
That you are worthy of him
Not knowing
That if you need to show someone your worth
Then they are not worthy of you
I have painted those walls yellow now
They try so hard
To smile at me
To make me smile
But all the yellow in the world
Cannot exhaust the vacuum
Of colourlessness
That you left behind
When you left.
I wish, Khalida
Sometimes, I wish
I had bought you
That small brown clay doll
You always pointed at
When you accompanied me
And watched as I worked
You sat patiently
As I cleaned stovetops
And clothes
Floors
Better than I did at home
Khalida, you heard music
When I clanked the vessels together
You ran under the taut, stretched rope
And when I twisted the clothes we couldn’t afford
To let every drop of water fall out of them
You danced
As if it was a magical rain
Pouring down upon you
You sang,
Khalida, when you were younger
You always sang
Every single time that you spoke
Words moved
As if they were flutes
And pianos
And drums
Creating the most beautiful symphonies
Until suddenly, there was only deafening silence
Why did you stop playing, Khalida?
I don’t know
If it is in my good fortune
To see again
Those dark wide eyes
Those thin lips
That didn’t always know to distinguish
Between a grin and a smile
Those curls
That I oiled and braided
In tight knots
Every single morning and night
But I hope, Khalida
That if nothing comes to be
Of the million prayers
I wish upon you
Each moment of my existence
If nothing else, Khalida
Desperately, I hope
At least, your memory
And your heart
One day
When you most need it
Teach you
To sing again.
