As she turned round and round
The folds of dazzling silk fell into place
Perfectly draped upon her shapely waist
And with pins between her teeth, she made sure
The brocade rested securely over her fragile shoulders.
A ritual engraved into my childhood mornings
Like the hearty breakfast before school
Watching her choose between crimson and cream
Marvelled my little girl-eyes , at how easily her mother coped
Twisting six yards of heavy cloth , ending up as a goddess’s dream.
Divinity embedded , her red bindi flashed
With happiness as she embraced her motherly tasks
I looked at the old calendar picturing the deities
Pure, glossy ,radiant and gold covered maybe
But merely pale shadows of my mother in her sari.