Mamta Kalia

I have to tell them each time
that it is me who is calling.
There is a slackness in my walk now.
People steadily walk past me in the morning.
I cannot run the race of my childhood any more.
Indeed how changed am I in all these years.
Of no use are old shirts to me, nor old trousers.
With clothes, has also changed my language,
a new grammar I have learnt.
I have adopted a new style, and make do with it now.
Even my own old photographs surprise me.
Was that me sitting and laughing on that bridge?
Was that me indeed who used to be star struck and
loved a girl of my colony?
I have changed because the portrait of the nation has also changed.
That is why my nephews and nieces have started saying—
chachaji, mamaji, what a miser you are!
And I, a little shy, a little smiling
hug them and have started searching for some meaning in life.
I did not want to change
when people started changing.
When started changing the sky and the ground beneath my feet.
I had drawn some lines in my life,
on which I wanted to walk all my life.
Till wherever possible, I even did that. Fell too here and there on the way.
But I changed because time changes too.
And on that I have no control.
I changed because if I had not, I would have drowned straightaway in
the river
April-June 2010 :: 57