Everything in me is coming to an end.
I was so scattered before, I never even noticed!
Who notices, beforehand?
How does it feel when everything ends, does anyone know?
You who know, will you come to my house someday?
Over tea, could you tell me a little?
Perhaps you're thinking, what strange questions I'll ask!
Like this: even when everything's finished, how do you steal two more days of living?
In such a state, can one still wear a sari and paint one's feet with alta?
If I line my eyes with blue kohl, will people laugh?
Can I read a little Urdu poetry in the evening?
Or at least half an Eliot?
Tell me, when everything's over, can I still wrap myself in that crooked kantha-stitched blouse I made with my own hands?
Must I stop going to wedding invitations?
If I come home late at night,
if I eat a little more rice, will the neighborhood aunties shame me?
These are just the few questions I'll ask. If you want, I'll ask more after. If not, we'll watch the sky together.
Take your time coming.
I know people are so short of time these days.
But still I'm asking, if you can, bring a little time in your hands for this person whose everything is ending!