Door hushed
voices
long sighs
half-inch smiles
odorless memories
desires.

Sound of cups resting on plates
and up again.

In the verandah
they are counting already-
Visitors, gifts, dowry,
days, and the crisp
palm length rupees.

Twirling their moustaches.

The maids in the kitchen
preparing,
listing- purchases to be made
next morning.

Rattling the evening plates.

He stares through
my impenetrable skin-
Mother washed with
haldi, besan, milk

I look into his
eyes- black and white-
Wrestling
Wrestling silently.

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