Maha Ashtami

Maha Ashtami.

Just another day for many,

away from home. Like me.

I attempted to make the morning

characteristic of special days like these.

Strong fragrance of incense 

mixed with smoky aromas of

ballooned Luchis ,

hung precariously in the air,

unsure of its presence in an alien country.

And, it was silent,

the surroundings, you know.

I couldn't hear Ma's bangles clink,

or dad sing;

not even a distant beat of Dhaak, 

or the resonance of a conch.

It was all silent,

as silent as the dead.

I sat by the porch,

all dressed, with a touch of vermilion,

to catch a glimpse of somebody. Anybody.

There was nobody.

Miles away, they must be sleeping,

and dreaming of the biggest day of the nine days.

Maha Ashtami.

But in some parts of the world,

its just another day.