The Old lady and her pain….

The old widow
though alone
Faced the tough life
with her brazen outlook
she lived in a 5 storey house
that stood tall
holding its head high
just like the old lady…..

Her fifteen room House
Was witness
How she raised all alone
her only child
A daughter
With love and care….

But then came jan 1990
She fled her home
In the middle of night
Amongst the rampage
Amongst the inferno
In the chilling night
When the jihadis were
On a killing spree..

The dignified old lady
Did’t wanted any help
From her Loving brother
Or from her beloved daughter
So she stayed in an ashram
And sang the hymns
In the praise of the lord
But the pain in her heart
Would force her thoughts
To roam around
her 15 roomed house
And she would then
pull herself back
Into the stark reality of today
Where she didn’t had
even one room
Not even a tent…..

The pain sucked out her vigour
her health
So thin she became
She became a living Skelton
Her health had failed now
But not her grit….

Then one day at the behest
Of her daughter
She moved with her
and her grandchildren

she would often mumble
She would talk to herself
And her tear drops would fall
From the corner of her eyes

And then one day she died
No one came on her funeral
Just her daughter’s family
And a handful of relatives
May be four or five
they paid their tributes
and then they said
“though brave she lived a life of pain”

And then after two days of her death
Her ashes were collected
from the shamshan
And then a relative said,
“see her atmaram
is distorted”….”
And then he said that,
“the atmaram of my parents was in a perfect shape”
“They will go to heaven”
“And see this poor lady”
“she lived a life full of strife and pain”
But it hardly mattered
she was no more…..

I had heard her many times
When she spoke
In sighs
And in whispers
that
“She had a house back in Kashmir
And that
In her house
she had 5 Pashmina shawls
And a samovar
And a lone poplar tree
And that she gets
Three thousand rupees in pension…”

She was my Grandmother….