I realized asthi
meant
roasted bones
when the ghee bottle
with you slipped
gathering motion
when contained
brittle glass
on the floor
**
It was the fourth day
since —
and we forgot
your asthi
when we went
early morning
for rituals next
to a pond
with no fish,
plastic green —
when we turned back
to bring you,
I realized
it wasn’t so much
our forgetfulness
but our reticence
in letting you go,
we couldn’t have forgotten,
at least not just yet.
**
Near that pond
as the priest chanted
for your safe passage
khura* arranged
your bones
on a yellow cloth;
Yellow signifies
so many things
one of them
(I believe)
has to do with
new beginnings —
when haldi
pestle-smashed
bled onto you
like a new bride
I remembered how
only a few days back
you wore a white mekhela,
golden bordered
snow-powder, lipstick
on your brown face
we rubbed
ground lentil, haldi
before carrying you
in the back
of the car —
collected, ready
you slept
on my lap
***
* Father’s Younger Brother in Assamese