I have never seen you wearing one of those bordered saris with a gold necklace with gold bangles with fancy sandals Mother! I have seen you burning the soles of your feet in the harsh summer sun hanging your little one in a cradle on an acacia tree carrying barrels of tar working on a road construction site I have seen you with a basket of earth on your head wags bound on your feet wiving a sweaty kiss to the naked child who came tottering over to you working for your daily wage, working, working, …. I have seen you turning back the tide of tears trying to ignore your stomach’s growl… I have seen you sitting in front of the stove burning your very bones to make a coarse bread and a little something to feed everybody, but half-feed yourself to there’d be a bit in the morning I have seen you washing clothes and potsin different households rejecting the scrap of food offered with pride… I have not seen you ever wanting a new broad- bordered sari…. ( Sharan Kumar Limbale, the Dalit Poet on his childhood memories, The Outcast, Akkarmashi )
Posted on: Wed, 25 Sep 2013 16:40:46 +0000
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