My mother tells me with a straight face that granddad is now in hospital

She takes out her to-do list and calls up her sister for updates.

I handle lunch, and she tells me to chop the cauliflower into smaller florets

As the daal gets boiling on the second burner, and the doorbell rings with another delivery

She hands my father his mid-day medications and calls up her surgeon friend

Asking her for doctor recommendations, as my father is told he needs surgery for his diabetic foot

My mind takes me to ten years ago when she lost her mother

The oldest daughter, mom had no time for tears or panic or pain

Preparing grandma for the funeral, draping her in her favourite saree

Holding one end of the stretcher bearing her, for that last journey to the next world

I wept with her sister in the van outside while mom saw Nani consigned to the flames

As they crackled heavenward, releasing her soul to the stars

"Your mother is fortunate," the priest tells mom. "She died a married woman, a Sumangali".

My mother came home from the funeral and consoled her sisters and welcomed the priests and served the guests food and did the paperwork.

The family men extolled grandma's virtues. "She'd always only care for others," they said.

The ultimate symbol of a Good Woman, a life dedicated to all but herself

It was too late by the time they found the tumor.

- Nandini Swaminathan ©