Poem: The Old Woman In My Car
On this hot April summer day, I picked up an old Christian lady on her way to catch a bus. She was strolling as our apartment campus bus left just before she could come out of the lift.
I picked up and dropped her despite being a slight detour. She ruffled my hair and said — you are a stranger yet caring. I could only smile. I pick up almost any old people walking long distances, mostly to shop or catch the bus. A few more — bikers in particular have joined this service.
We got a shade erected at the bus stop, and a pot of water nearby. The flower vendor fills the water, which we ensure is potable for everybody. This poem is about the old woman’s story who inspired me to contribute to a system.
Poem: The Old Woman In My Car
‘Too hot,’ She says, ‘I have seen eighty years’
Heat, this unusual summer, is what she fears.
Heat distills its vapor as drenched pools on my seat
Hands fumble to clean her fuzzy glasses
Fidgety apologies and unplaited gratitude
Warped wrinkles like tree barks, yet soft
Calloused hands shiver, yet ruffle my hair
A touch of tears and a deep, deep sigh
‘To the bus stand, son’ a confident order
Returning my smile as I drive slow and smooth‘Thirty years of solitude’ says the mother
‘Tell me about it … thirty years’ I mutter
‘A daily call became weekly, then monthly’
‘As days go by, the telephone ring withers to silence’
‘Solitude is fine, my son — I read, recite and write’
‘Madam,’ I ask, ‘Why do you not go to your offspring’
‘I wanted. I could not. He does not remember me a thing.’I hold her hand, as she held her son’s long, long ago
‘I have seen life’s twists, turns, taverns, and bends’
‘Thirty years of solitude, I wish one day, all this ends.’
I hold her hand tight — thumb and her fingers four‘How about you mother’, she asks… ‘She is no more’
Soft grey eyes look at me –‘You must have been a good son’
‘I don’t know ma’am. I suppose I tried to be one.’
‘Oh, I am sure you are, son…because I too have one.’Her touch, so my-mother-like, and her words, so soothing
I close a wink and then turn a corner slow
‘Here is we part, and in our ways, we go’
‘You are a good Samaritan, son.’ Her words flow‘Come over sometime, for a cup of tea’
‘Make another good day for me, otherwise dreary.’
‘I have quite a collection in my home library’
‘I have Hemmingway, Orwell, and Agatha Christie.’Astonishing observation, that she knows I read
‘How do you know, Madame Marple?’ I plead
‘Who has a pile of books in the backseat of a car’
‘Only a bookworm can travel to lands afar.’We laugh and smile, and wave our goodbyes
She walks to the bus stand, in her wobbly gait
I smile as she boards, about the little ride nice.
I think of my mother and my thirty years of wait.~Ashok Subramanian © 2024
