No more of Unni’s auto and quotidian rides to the town;

No more muddling between her favourite cream or maroon saree;

No more gossiping with her friends.

And the most heart-wrenching of all,

No more of her autonomous life at home; my tharavad; Ammachi’s territory.


Restless. Incongruous. Out of place.

City seems strange; nobody cares; the newspaper's sketchy and unsatisfactory.

Strolling ground reduced to three times,

so is its luscious leafy scenery.

Walls built to define privacy

that makes no sense to her at all.


She yearns for her land and the freedom once she had

in her happy place, away from this commotion.

Cusses at her old-age and throws tantrums occasionally

asking God about her existence.


But deep down, she’s elated to be with me and my parents

Enigmatically, thanking Lord for this pandemic.