Every saturday my Nani and I went to the Gurudwara.
A beautiful white building,
Immaculate white flooring, with grand double stairs.
I would sit with her for five,
Then step out to play with the kids in the garden outside.
She always sat there praying to god.
I never asked what.
I don’t know why- I never asked what she wanted from God.
Never felt there was something beyond her
Raising two kids alone without a husband, she was formidable.
Years later when I saw her with her newly grown hair poking from her head,
Prickling my palms and finger,
She looked so tiny and frail.
She blessed me with her shaking hands,
And later that evening danced at her son’s wedding.
That last time she would speak with me in person.
I saw her again, but we didn’t talk, she couldn’t.
I got married 6 years after she died,
In a white Gurudwara– a different one.
I was sad, alone and shaken but something kept me grounded.
The white marble, the white stairs and the white walls
They were all her.
