When I first saw
my mother’s passport size photo
I laughed
She looked elegant
with that jet black hair and golden wheat skin
Yet like a terrified animal in eyes
Her eyes unsymmetric
Crooked if one may want to say
It was as if she tried
Keeping them open
but one betrayed her at the flash of light
a blink of betrayal
Yet, they were not completely closed
Titled to a side
Nothing the society would approve of
Like an illegitimate affair
Her eyes deep inside the socket sparkled
Not even a dark circle to be seen
in a kilometre
Peaceful
I pointed out the eyes to her and laughed
She smiled back, the smile of kindness
Years later I sit in front of the light
Head to the side, chin up, smile
Camera flashes
a comfortable flash
Soaked in sweat inside
my high priced shirt
I waited
Five minutes they told
but got done in two
I have my mother’s eyes
the photo in my hand told me
My eyes crooked in one
As though it was terrified of the flash
Unlike my mother, years of dark circles
settled peacefully under my eyes
They sparkled at me
The same sparkle of my mother
I have my mother’s eyes
One eyebrow placed higher than the other
as though the tilted brow was
compensating
my closed eyes
Eyebrows the same, Eyes the same
I have my mother’s eyebrows
I looked away to the Chennai traffic
dusty and thought of the
afternoon I laughed at my mother’s photo
Sitting so near, I could
smell her rising happiness
May be years from now, someone will
sit on my lap and laugh at my
Crooked eyes and tilted brow
I smiled
I have my mother’s eyes
In the end I was nothing but my mother.
Her eyes, Her eyebrows, Her skin.
The realisation made me proud
If I was to become half as kind as she is
I would consider myself successful.
Successful, not happy as that was the
buzz word of the era
If I have my mother’s eyes and she
has her mother’s
I am nothing but a replica
Of my great great grandmothers
Spanning through centuries
An invisible sisterhood
Then am I a replica of Eve, the great mother ?
But Eve was Christian
Neither Eve nor my grandmother’s
would be happy with the conclusion.
So be it.
I can’t speak for endless humanity
But I can speak for me and my mother
I have my mother’s eyes
Poem by Akshaya Panicker
Illustration by Namrata Nirmal
Article 19 