The old photograph, [almost] ageing almost the same year, when my mother left. After month-long nursing and almost same months of bereavement, I headed back to work. The world that I know until yesterday feels different now.
The train left the Secunderabad station while the crowd inside the compartments squeezes themselves against each other. It feels claustrophobic and elbowed my way to the other side through the crowd for a breath of freshness.
She was sitting by the side of the aisle with the child tucked between her legs looking at the moving tracks sedated. Her face is grim and crisscrossed with ageing lines. Her eyes fixated and lips unmoved. She looks sad but unmoved with the playful restlessness of the child. She holds him tight in a motherly embrace with her dim eyes fixated to the sparkling pairs of iron rails that glide and separates; only meets again.