In my yesteryears memories,
I see my ancestral home- an adjunct to my life
a home painted with
not just colors- but celebrations of life

I peeked into the rasoi,
a roshandaan- a quaint window with molds and webs
greeted nostalgia and paper boats swarms
like Poppy seeds chasing fragrant memories.

I see Grandma in the kitchen
making different kinds of bread and sweets,
While grandpa sits on the
beige colored sofa, his spectacle,

Mom wearing a silky shawl, and
starched cotton saree, with
a big Red Sindoor Bindi, blushing on
her forehead reminds me of hibiscus blooms.

Our home library cemented in a side wall
of the attic room; chirped like a hummingbird
an attic room where grandpa
used to keep his angeethi; the fading memories
glows with the touchโ€ฆ.

A vivacious living room where everyone gathered
in winters to have chai and savory patties with tamarind chutney.
Yesteryears laughter now burns in the dying embers.

The family album documented all the excitement
of celebrations, festivals, wedding and meet-ups- now an heirloom
for my kids.

Dad used to take me to ride on his new scooter

while the old Lambretta roar fades into the past.

An empty derelict vase bought from a local potter
preserved near the B&W Television set with a shutter
unveiled crowded, forlorn and eager
memories, recollections, and glimpses.

The silence of the ancestral home is broken

by the loud speakersโ€™ noises around festivities

and fond trips to haat bazaar.

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.

angeethi* a traditional brazier

10 thoughts on “Nostalgia

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