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Monday, June 12, 2000
Sunset Lives
By- Padmini Natarajan

I grew up in Madras, Hyderabad and Bombay. Being a sickly child, books were my constant companions. I had an arranged marriage, two kids and am celebrating my fiftieth, my husband's sixtieth birthdays and our 28th Anniversary this year. Over the years I have developed a great interest in drama and act in serious roles though comedy is my forte. Along with scripting skits I write poetry, fiction, first person encounters. I was encouraged, even goaded, to write, by my husband who is my editor and critic. Tend to be verbose and get on to a soap box easily.

Have been part of an all womens drama group and don both male and female roles. I am member of an International Women's Association and volunteer with a suicide prevention group.

I have lived in Mauritius for ten years and have been a globe trotter.


Rocking in a corner
Of the verandah
A shawl keeping
Away the chill
Watching with
Blurred vision
The children play
Fight, scream
The gardener
Watering the plants
Carefully monitoring
The flower seller
Measuring the string
Of jasmine
The maid drawing
Kolams for the evening
Eagerly awaiting
The homecoming
Listening to the news
And announcements
To finish dinner
As the sun sets
Its time to go to bed
In warm comfort
With a glass of milk
And give thanks
With a prayer
For another day
Of living
On her lips

Stooped with stick
Supporting a frail
Weathered, withered
Body, tottering vAlong the paths
To join the others
At prayers for
The evening
And then amble
Across to the
Dining hall
To have supper
That will sit lightly
In a shrunk stomach
Then to the shared
Dormitory iron bed
To rest the tired body
Listening to the
Muffled sniffles
Snores and moans
Of other aching
Flesh and bones
Waiting for the
Dawn and the
Head count
To exist
Another day
Amongst other
Lonely deserted
Souls like him

Shoulders bearing
A plastic sack
Filled with scraps
And tatters of paper
Prodded and picked
In rubbish heaps
With tattered clothes
Eyes peering through
A rickety frame
With only one lens
Scraping a living
To pay interest
On loans long spent
Suffering from
Racking, debilitating
Diseases with
No cure, treated
In charitable
Dispensaries
Meandering through
Lanes, resting awhile
Under a shady tree
Using unlit
Public conveniences
Eating foraged
Leftovers, at last
Curling up in old
Newspapers, bone
Weary, like the dead
She sleeps

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