Mother,
Do you remember those summer nights?
We would lie under the stars
On the Charpai in the aangan?
You would urge me to look for shooting stars
And prod me to wish upon one.
I did that.
I was young, I believed in magic.
But, more than magic, I believed in you Maa.
Mother,
Do you remember hot summer noons
Redolent
With the Smell of pungent ingredients?
I remember.
I remember you and your assortment of implements
Peeling, cutting, and chopping up the raw produce.
Those few days of summer, the whole house
Smelled of spices and masala.
How I miss those smells now.
But, more than the smells I miss that time with you.