First thing in the morning, they
read the obituaries. She recites
them out to her grandmother.
The Hindu, apart from making
excellent shelf cover for the
almirahs, has a comprehensive
list of all the people in Madras
and surrounding areas who died.
Remembered by surviving family,
and some sadly, without issues.
In an exercise of memory, the
grandmother struggles to recall,
which of these people, she knew.
Mr J. Vivekasundaram, she chants,
dutiful son of Mr K. Jayaraman,
went to his heavenly abode, in
his sleep yesterday. Survived
by his distraught wife, two sons,
one daughter and their children.
The old woman giggles, “He really
did have two daughters. One of
them ran away with her lover
at the tender age of nineteen”.
PS – I like the idea of this poem, but not the execution. But that’s okay.