Bangles

My mother would keep her bangles in boxes under the bed,

“No- one will find them there”, she’d say.

In the dark hours of the night, when my mother and brother snored,

and my father was out working,

I’d hear the boxes move, the bangles clinking, just like they would clink on my mother’s wrist. 

My mother counted the bangles everyday,

she would flare up in tyranny if there was one missing here or there,

she wouldn’t eat that day or comb her hair or wear her vermillion,

we would find the missing bangle, a day or two later, lying right next to the boxes. 

My mother wouldn’t be surprised, she’d place it back in. 

One night, the bangles did not clink ,

My mother didn’t sleep that night,

She roamed about the house like a hungry wolf,

searching, seeking 

as if her soul was lost and she was looking for it.

At dawn, the bangles clinked. 

My mother fell fast asleep. 

A few days later, a new maid was anointed. 

She would clean and sweep and dust and wash. 

She would cook and cut and grind and mix. 

And she would steal. 

She stole my little pen stand,

she stole my brother’s piggy bank,

she stole spoons and forks and knives,

vases and scarves , bottles and socks. 

one day she stole and never returned. 

the bangle boxes were gone. 

My mother didn’t sleep that night, she didn’t sleep the next, after that, she never slept,

until one day, when she fell down with a thud and succumbed to sleep,

deep slumber,

deep, deep slumber that lasted forever. 

A day later,

while I lay in bed at night,

I heard the clinking sound,

the clinking sound of bangles,

just like they would on my mother’s wrist. .