A/N ~ context :—

This poem is dedicated to my Nani (a hindi calling for maternal grandmother). She isn't educated, brought up in a farmer family in the mid-twentieth century. Even though, she thinks about it now. She thinks about how different things would've been if she was sent to school. However, what she doesn't regret were the days of her vibrant childhood. She often tells us (me and my cousin's) about her childhood stories, of how different things were back then. From the good old days and the folk stories to each of her adventures. Her favourite memories being with the high stood Neem in her village.          At the age of 18, she was married off to a 20 year old man - my Nanu (a hindi calling for maternal grandfather). Nani and nanu had no idea about the wedding, they had never met each other before. It was decided by both of their parents (something which I found extremely disheartening).           One thing which surprised me from her talks was - back in the old days, the girl (the bride) wasn't directly sent off to live with her husband and in-laws. Instead, she lived with her family for a couple more years until she had matured enough.

Nani didn't say much about her own wedding but I can only guess the overwhelming and suffocating feeling she would've gone through at the mere age of 18.

Nearly 6-7 years after her wedding, she gave birth to my mum. She was over the moon to have her.

I wrote this poem on her last birthday and even though she couldn't understand english, I tried my level best to translate. By the end, she was in tears. Her cheeks with a light blush as she hugged me tight. I had never been more proud of myself.

She is my Nani, the one who brought me up. And I have never seen someone as strong, beautiful and kind-hearted as her. She is the one I look up to.

She's Murthi.