You miss old times and people; open eyes and see change
Envelope you and them. I miss my little brother calling me
To play cricket with him on the terrace. I, the elder one,
Reluctant at times, with things more important to do
Saying no sometimes, and the day we drafted a penciled contract,
Mutually agreed upon; then signed. Its clauses:
I would not slobber him in public,
I would play terrace-cricket with him every afternoon.
I would not snatch his chocolate away, or samosas.
I did keep to my part of it for some time, I remember,
Then, I left. When we met again, he had grown up.
Didn't need any more his playmate of terrace,
Didn't play cricket there anymore. I know how it feels.
I know the shock, the pain, the novelty of being wanted no longer.
Then came my little daughter demanding, not drafting agreements, that:
I play with her every evening, after I return from work.
I take her to the park at weekend mornings
I don't force her to learn her tables,
I don't side with her mother when she's scolded.
I sense my grandchildren in future, demands unchanged,
Eyes bright and happy after success.