Humans of Himachal

Stories • Destinations • Motivation

Monday violets

I personally believe
it’s easy to remember
people as colours.
Poets make the
blue of sky,
My friends are cheery red,
White was my last lover
and my mother, violet.

My mother stands out in the crowd;
soft spoken, compassionate
and loud.
Her words are fine and polished
like her carefree long nails.
She glows around the lamp
lights up every night,
leaves me a bowl
of fruits with a smile.
She keeps calling for me,
wanting me to engage,
asking me to help,
looking for me in broad

She rarely talks of herself
but when she does,
she reflects like the ocean
she carries.
//Sometimes, it feels like
she’s an ocean trying to
fit into an aquarium//

I listen to the
stories of her world,
how the sisters were treated,
because they are girls.
Her mother’s love for books,
how her father likes his food,
how she was a mother
to her siblings
and how she loves her girls (us).

When she tells me how to cook,
I follow.
When she hesitantly
ask me to cross the road,
I go.
When she wants me to
buy groceries, I do.
When she tells me stuff,
I listen.
When she tells a lie,
I believe.
When she’s joking around,
I laugh.
My belief is blind,
because she’s my mother.
And this is how
I’m keeping my
violets close.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *