Kids Corner

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Poetry

My Daadi ji

A Poem by BAVLEEN KAUR SAINI

 

 

It was not so many years ago,
When I would run into your arms
And you would throw me into the air,
Without a care in the world,
We would lie on the floor,
As I told you about my day,
And all the games I played
Not so many years ago.

It was not so many years ago,
When I would sit in your lap,
As you quietly did your prayers,
You would rock me back and forth,
Patting my head and fixing my hair.
Not so many years ago,
You would hold my hand,
And squeeze it tight, in fear of losing me,
Scared that I would get out of your sight,
And get lost in the thousands of people around me,
You never let me go.

Not so many days ago,
I stood
Wondering when the time would come,
When I would walk out of this door,
And no longer be yours.
I wonder when the moment will arrive,
When you wave me off,
As a daughter of another father,
No longer yours.
Tears reaching my eyes,
Because the thought of another father,
Causes my skin to shiver and my heart to crawl.
Life without you, is not a life worth living at all.

There are not many years left,
I will grow and will be gone,
So I ask you to take me into your lap,
And rock me once more.
Pat my head and fix my hair.
Hold my hand,
And hold onto me tight,
Because there is a part of me,
That fears the possibility that I might
Let go, and loose you as I find myself,
Hold me tight, Daadi ji,
And never let me go.

 

March 20, 2010

Conversation about this article

1: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), March 20, 2010, 5:13 PM.

What a heart wrenching account of Daadi ji or/ Naani ji, both mutually interchangeable, and both trying to outdo each other as to who can spoil the grandchildren more. Luckily they both usually don't stay together, otherwise there would the portents of another World War and ready to die for their respective rights. What a touching and exquisite piece that I should save. May I share a little piece of child's wisdom? "The little granddaughter Mina is busy playing with her dolls past her bedtime and all ears to the sweet nothings coming from the grandma, who is multi-tasking with her prayers. The regimental Ma puts her foot down and orders her little Mini to "go to bed this instant". The grandmother intercedes to let her play a little more. "No, Mother, you stay out of this, you have already spoilt her!" The little Mini, with all her sagacity at her command, has the last word: "You don't listen to your own mother and you are telling me to listen to you - what kind of mother are you?" The wedding song, "Chirrian da chamba asee udd jana", moves me to tears every time I hear it. Thank you, Balveen beta, for sharing your thoughts.

2: M.Gibson (Guelph, Ontario, Canada), March 20, 2010, 6:01 PM.

... just utterly beautiful, the appreciation of the immensity of the gift. And its potential loss. Achingly beautiful!

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