Suprabatham

Kausalya Supraja Ramapoorva...
The familiar strains in M.S.'s voice.
The cassette is old, squeaky
But paati has not had enough of it.

As a child she had sung it,
Every morning, fresh as a lark.
A woman, she chanted it
Daily: a duty to her family,
Its welfare at heart.

Now she cannot sing, nor chant.
Her voice, a shaky whisper,
Her teeth, all gone,
Memory but a haze.

But habits die hard.
And so the squeaky cassette
Never mind the groans of her sleeping grandson,
The grumbling of her son,
The glares of her daughter-in-law
The sound barrier is shattered.
The old lady has her way
And M.S. sings on...Kausalya Supraja...