When Maa Used To Wear A Saree

The entrance of my school gate,

Full of vibrant hues and there they used to wait.

Mothers of our times, clad in the quintessential six yards.

Always in a hurry,

But they do not miss a day to drape a saree.

How beautiful she looked, the pleats and the braids,

How the child inside me longs for that divine smell,

The celestial fragrance of the end piece,

That almost covered the whole of my life.

Having the sumptuous Sunday meal

And wiping my face with her ‘Aanchal’.

No handkerchief or towel would suffice and give that feel.

For any day, anywhere Maa had them all stitched and weaved.

In the timeless wardrobe, where I would probably like to live.

The end piece has a special role to play,

Especially in our annual sports day.

All our sweat got absorbed, but never did it get stinky

or unwanted with the heat of the sweltering sun rays.

Those were the times,

When Maa used to wear a saree.

We grew up and we saw her still draped in them,

Day by day with some hair grey,

And knees that refuse to make one’s way.

The sarees are now adorning Maa in a more endearing play.

By Namrata Sagar