This is one of my favourite poems I wrote during my month long stay in an Indian village. Living with a rural family miles form the city meant I lived every minute of the village life that was so new and overwhelming to me.
As I sat by the fire
Stirring the spatula about
He sat looking at me
With a question in his head.
Curious, just like the rest
About everything that is me
More so of whether
I’m married and have kids.
My answers more than startled
His very being
A girl so grown
Lives so with no husband!
“What’s your age?”, he asks
With more questions in his head
“Twenty”, I answer
As he scratches his fully grey head.
All questions lost
He loudly thinks
“How old am I?
I’ve lost all track!”.
Counting his grey hair
Perhaps his age be known
But then the thought struck
Deny him his free life so?
