ma rubs asafoetida and ginger oil
on Dida’s mushroom belly
her voice a needle
on the record of an aarti
glorifying kali too busy collecting
skulls for her garland to listen
shiva unable to answer
amid the tandav
vishnu who sees water as far
as water exists except in us
she pours buttermilk
and tulsi into Dida’s mouth
where there were curses
now a lullaby
all their venom
lost in search
of a recipe to fix her weeping gut
when ma finds none
she resorts to humour
counts her flaws
a smile from Dida’s still
mouth of an annoyed lover
ma nurses her
like she nursed me
when I was a cloud
passing through her womb
Dida’s one swollen foot
in the grave
the other a stone
in ma’s clasp
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