Sudipta Mishra, Puri, 6 May 2023
From my infancy,
I have seen her with a vanity bag,
With her vanity,
She carries her dignity,
Like a treasure trove of pleasure,
I always wonder and ponder,
I envy her handbag for its consistency,
I complain: “O Maa, please carry your little one instead of this black and dull bag”,
Every time she refuses,
As kids are not allowed to workplaces,
My mother’s handbag is just like the piggy bank,
From which you can satiate your greedy stomach…..
The storehouse of data lies in a withered napkin,
Books, lesson notes, and pens are most commonly seen,
This is the same bag that endured all seasons in its turtleback,
It’s the same bag that enveloped loads of love in the form of candies and sweet packs,
It’s the same bag that becomes a tag bearer of my mother’s rebellion against the societal setup,
It’s the same bag that liberates her from the shackles of disgrace and stigma,
It’s the same bag that is still now enriched with lots of love in the form of gifts for the grandchildren,
It’s the same faded bag that still holds unconditional love in my heart…..
