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Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Her home


It was not her house. She didn't even pay the rent.
Yet, she called it home.
Married at the age of 23, she had to move in with her belongings.
She missed the courtyard of her father's house.
Here, in the small adjoining garden she planted a tree, hoping it would bear fruits one day.

This isn't her house either. And no, she doesn't pay her rent. The far-away daughter does.
They call this home.
Feeble and lonely at 71, she has to move in with her belongings.
She misses the smell of raw mangoes that her tree bears every summer.
A pot of flowering plant is now what she calls home.

7 comments:

preenita said...

I am highly impressed with your feelings ...

Kingshuk Chakrabarti said...

This is amazing!!
Home for me is a place from where i can see a night sky and paint it with my thoughts and memories ;)

Sutanuka said...

Very well written .. expressed a lot in a few words! Keep going :)

Malancha Dasgupta said...

super like....the more i read the more i fall in love with your writing

debarati chakraborty said...

Thanks for the encouraging comments everyone :) Really appreciate it.

Somnath Seal said...

Home is all about the belongings and the people with whom we feel comfortable. At the age of 71 everyone left her and she has to move with her belongings – So, a pot of flowering plant is now what she calls home. …. Wonderful!! I am touched

debarati chakraborty said...

Thank you Somnath Dada.