sometimes it seems to me
that i'm a lot like my mother.
tonight, she's gone to sleep
and i am
heading to the kitchen.
eyes tired, lips a little dry,
looking for a glass of water.
the kitchen platform
is unusually clean.
no sign of a stain
and all utensils kept in place;
except for a glass made of steel.
empty and solitary,
yearning to be filled-
like the woman next door
who is asleep.
the glass made of steel
whose sound last night
drove me to the kitchen.
today, it is nothing
but a simple
thirst for water.
the other day maa
spoke of my cousin-
a little girl of one.
talking of how
she strongly feels
that she looks a lot like her.
last night
maa didn't fall asleep.
frequenting the kitchen,
she saw me once
and hid the glass she held
beneath the kitchen sink.
as for now,
it lies on top of it.
there's a strong smell
it carries
and i do not pick it up.
it stays where it stays,
uttering
not a single sound.
sometimes
while sleeping maa
smiles in peculiar ways-
as if she's dreaming of
all the stories she reads
in the old, yellowed
copies of her favourite magazine,
sarita.
there are other glasses
in the cupboard
but this one
has a specific shape.
it is round underneath
and opens up at its surface
as if it is
a flower
storing sweet nectar within.
maybe maa's dreaming
of her mother,
nani.
somewhere sleeping beside
older, further yellowed
copies of
her favourite magazine,
sarita.
she would drape her saree at 6 am,
carrying the entire night
in her head.
the same night
in which her daughter is fast asleep
and i am wide awake.
nani's amma,
she comes at night like a witch
that nani described her as.
maybe that is why
nani still wakes up early
and goes to sleep on time at night.
as for amma,
travelling across the country
often forgetful of the 9 children
she brought from across the border,
she occupies
a space in my head
but has no image.
there are instead
images and stories
from
sarita,
first published in 1945
the year nani turned 3
and amma
started to turn away.
maybe in her dreams,
maa talks
but whom does she talk to?
maybe it is anyone who listens.
maybe if maa were
awake
in 1945
back in sindh,
she'd have listened to amma.
maybe yesterday
when i entered
the kitchen,
it was also out of a certain thirst.
just not for water.
today,
maa looked at another photo of the little cousin.
this time,
she said she looks a lot like me.
maybe she's dreaming
of everything at once-
intertwined in ways
that cannot be deciphered
except in her dream
or when she sips
from the glass made of steel.
sometimes it seems to me
that i'm a lot like my mother.
there are other glasses
in the cupboard,
ones that aren't oddly shaped
or that attract hungry
bees from their sleep.
but i pick up the
glass made of steel
wash it once,
pour water into it
and bring it to my lips.
Saras Jaiswal doesn’t know much about writing bios, and doesn’t know much about anything, for that matter. For now, she is trying to make a shrine out of the stories her mother left her, and often goes there to pray.