Motherland by Sonia Kurup
there are spiders in the bathroom
sometimes even lizards
the small things are more afraid of you than you are of them, ammoos said...
but, I am a small thing
you liked this pace of life
lost time is made up with infinite teas and
banana chips
that night it rained
and you were drenched
the dirt became soft
it took you with it under your weight
deeper into your motherland
the next morning we made our rounds
asking forgiveness, seeking light and life
from the granite statues
the days are filled with
do you remember me?
you try to remember
you remember the lunches
on freshly cut banana leaves
you remember the sleepy nights on the bumpy roads
after long days of sifting through
silk sarees and salwars
you remember the nights of fireworks, just because
they are worth the mosquito bites
you remember the carrom board in appoos’ room
it hurt your finger sometimes but it was so much fun
and you think of where the time has gone
you wonder how the place that made you feel so small grew to make you feel like you were too big for it
you look down at your knee
the scar from your fall on the stone path of the canal has disappeared
it seemed like just yesterday
you were a small thing