Shrill whistles bellow from steaming cookers
The tinkle of tea cups resonate with hushed voices
A few tears mixed with officious rituals mourn the sad demise
The stale old sari gets discarded in a heap of washing
The charwoman laboriously sweeps out the remnants of life
Lingering still on massive cold grey floors
Mingling laughter with tears, anguish and duty
Bare rooms bereft of life get made up ready to receive visitors
Adorned with flowers and incense, unconcerned in a pall of white
The body, dust and ashes, smeared on mantels
A patina of discarded memories, cherished voices long lost
The story of death recounted countless times to inane sympathies
Hushed silences shatter as the final journey begins
A ceremonial cacophony in God’s name
‘Bol Hari, Hari Bol!’
Life goes on.
