Village memories: Grandma's house and our story
Have you ever seen your grandmother in an unknown face? Or have you ever felt the memories of childhood in the streets of the village? This blog "Village memories: Grandma's house and our story is a collection of those feelings of mine.
POEM
Jayashree Thitme
12/22/2024
While passing through the lanes of the village, the smell of the stove and the laughter of the children forced me to stop for a moment. Somewhere in our childhood, we all have seen those grandmothers and grandmothers, whose wrinkles have stories hidden in them.
These memories inspired me to write a poem. Every word has the fragrance of the chutney made by my grandmother's hands, and every line has the comfort of those swings in the village. My poem is a mirror of those memories of my childhood, where my grandmother's house used to work the magic of eradicating every pain.
Perhaps you too will have a 'Nani ka Gharaunda' in your heart. The fragrance of the soil there, the rustling of the swings there, and the touch of the grandmother's hands must still give peace to the heart. This poem is dedicated to that childhood love and the magic of the village, which may be lost with time, but always remains fresh in our memories.
All I want to say through this poem is that perhaps there is a 'Grandmother's House' in all our hearts, where childhood always remains alive.
Poem:
Where the earth and sky will be one,
My grandmother's house would be there.
Where the smoke calls from afar,
Where birds will chat in the morning and evening.
Grain and water must have been scattered in the courtyard,
My grandmother's house would be there.
The curd in the pot will be sour,
It seems as if there is a famine regarding pickles.
The ball of chutney drowns us in sorrow,
My grandmother's house would be there.
The Peepal tree knows everything there,
I would keep the neem tree in my lap the whole day.
He bears stones and gives tamarind too,
He would sing his lullabies in the shade.
My grandmother's house would be there.
The darkness cries out with a shrill voice,
The lamp in the corner would go to sleep.
Keeping the cold away in granny's quilt,
I would enter,
My grandmother's house would be there.
There will be an old man full of anger,
He must be growling at everyone while sitting.
But he leaves the most memories there,
My grandmother's house would be there.
My grandmother is bent down, now only her eyes are flowing with tears,
Her laughter is now found only in memories.
When an old woman is seen in any village,
My grandmother's magic flows there.
My grandmother's magic flows there.
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