She loved listening to the radio
In her terrace rose garden,
On the top of a bakery,
That she lived in,
To be close to her baker sons,
And speak to customers,
Who loved her sense of fun.
She didn’t like long bangs,
She thought they damage the eyes.
She loved her camera, like she loved her radio,
And her knitting needles.
She would give biscuits to strangers,
And make random conversation with anyone.
She carried a photograph
Of a man with a swollen throat,
And warned smokers on the street
About the consequences of smoking.
She rocked me on the rocking chair,
When I was a baby.
She got me Cooper’s chocolate walnut fudge,
When I grew up.
She had a long cane,
And caned me when I was naughty.
She made the best vasanu – A parsi sweet made of nuts.
She loved her children and grandchildren.
She wore long gowns,
And could make anyone smile.
The last time I met her,
I took an instant photo of us;
She loved it so much,
She hid it under her pillow.
You went away, your photos are with me now.
Inside my phone and heart.
I know you’re watching me.
The sky looks beautifully painted,
Ever since you have been gone.
We keep this love in a photograph
We made these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
Hearts are never broken
And time’s forever frozen still