This poem was submitted by the author to, and published here by, Cultural Streams International.
by Nancy Ganguli (for Chinu)
The soft clink of churi on her wrists
penetrates my consciousness as I sleep
in the darkened room of my in-law’s house,
amid unfamiliar street noises
drifting in through open windows.
Her silent presence soothes me.
I fall back into easy sleep,
knowing she has again come
to check on her grandkids and me.
Nearly forty years later on my side of the world,
another Bengali in-law looks after me.
In my own kitchen, she opens the tap,
lets warm water gush into a large bowl,
places it on the floor by my chair
and gently demands
I soak my swollen, cracked feet.
Then, with her own hand,
she pats my feet dry
with a towel.
Nancy Ganguli