It was almost night when I stopped to speak with you,

Exchange a word of greeting

shifting my bag of groceries, eager to step home, hungry.

A casual encounter with a neighbor

When did that conversation move past bhajans that you’d just heard

and meander elsewhere?

Perhaps it was the way your lip trembled

Even though you held your grey head high

Picking at the hem of your simple dress

Looking all around from time to time.

When did that tale step past politeness

To sibling abuse and mental torture?

Too familiar a tale—elder abuse, and yes this my India

My valiant, ancestral India

I listened only too conscious of my grey

And covered up grey

And, yes could money run out

And one’s own turn away

All the whatifs

Rushed down upon me

Trailed me home

Now I wear them, like a second skin.