Kanyadaan

as the shehnai and the dhols
fill the air with warmth, 
and the december dew
trickles down the faces,
of the turban-clad wrinkled faces,
of the musicians,
the heartbeats raced faster
by the moment,
and a neat drop of dew
rolled down the cheeks
of the kajal-decked little doll,
dressed as a bride today

as the shehnai and the dhols
fill the air with warmth,
and the flower-braided locks
bring a spring to the steps
of one and all,
it takes me back the memory lane,
when the little doll
with her groomed tiny ponytails
would sit before me
to pick a lesson of maths, or two,
her eyes innocent as a doe,
her mind racing like a rabbit,
and hands, like those of maa saraswati,
with a chirping in her tone,
no less sweet,
than the myna bird

as the shehnai and the dhols
fill the air with warmth,
an excitement....
an anxious excitement
swelled in her heart
for the tomorrow that's yet to come,
of hope, that's yet to see
the first rays of dawn,
and love, that awaits in a new home,
a missing, already growing
of the tender hands,
that have carved her until now,
with the love that she'd leave behind
in the hearts she'd called home

as the shehnai and the dhols
fill the air with warmth,
there's light twinkling in her eyes,
for the life that awaits her,
and a cloud of tears
of joy and parting,
that's waiting to burst,
in the eyes of those
for whom she'll always be ladli,
their ladli,
the same little doll, 
in the neatly-braided ponytails,
for whom she'll always be
the apple of their eyes

as the shehnai and the dhols
fill the air with warmth,
her bed has turned cold,
since the last time she enjoyed 
a nice cozy sleep,
her bed would miss,
every soul would miss her,
even her soft cuddly pillow would,
but they'd all be together,
lipping a whisper,
a prayer and a blessing,
for the little girl,
their little doll,
dressed as a bride today!




© sashikant mohanty