My India Visit
In India a house my grandad owned,
Built up by grandad alone,
Once a year my gran or grandad,
Would this house visit.
That year my mom and I,
We went to visit for a fortnight,
My grandmother was there,
As was my great grandmother.
It was a lovely house I admit,
Outside a bench hung from two chains,
A swing if you like.
My mom and I happened to disagree,
Over her brushing my hair for me,
My grandmother, she took charge,
Turning me round and doing my hair,
She bitterly exclaimed that,
My mom she was upset,
That my dad chased after Aunt Premala.
My heart, it shattered at her cruel words,
I made no reply,
Yet when she had left, to my knees I sank,
Tears cascading from my eyes,
Not unlike a waterfall,
My heart was torn, fractured, splintered.
I recalled eagerly asking for the phone,
When Aunt Premala rang dad,
Her voice cast a spell over me,
Even Hillary's voice I had not noticed,
My passionate love for Aunt Premala,
It rose to the surface,
Triggered by my gran's disparaging of her.
Mom was shocked to find me weeping,
Impossible to tell the truth,
My loyalty to my dad,
To Aunt Premala, to Semanti,
To their extended family,
Whom I loved as my own,
It prevented me.
I told mom that her telling me off,
That was what had upset me,
When I returned to England,
I would seek dad's advice.