Words are Weariness

Persistence of Memory - by Salvador Dali Last time when I went home, there was nobody there, except for him sitting in his cot as was his wont. There must be something about the cot which tied our Annan ( big brother ) to it, seemingly for ever. Through the window behind the cot, you could see the mango tree with its tender leaves and fresh flowers standing in dignified silence under the scorching sun. Two women underneath, in contrast, were in constant chatter moving about a clothesline wringing and hanging clothes to dry. As the women tied one end of a brown saree to a post to stretch it free of wrinkles, the sun shining thru it produced light of a different hue, our Annan was sitting there with an expression of contentment on his face, as if laughter had just prevailed and subsided. Our big brother was in the same state of stupor, till I asked him, “Where are the others?”.as I was keeping the bag down. “Welcome home Kittu” , he replied, “They have all