In Memory Of My Petticoat Poem by Namita Rani Panda

I looked eagerly at her seasoned face for sympathy
But, to my dismay, she threw a cold cursory glance of apathy
I was sure it was she who along with my saree had taken both of my petticoats
Just a few days before, how could she so easily forget!
Still, I remember that seasoned face and the new petticoat of mine
Which she must have worn for a long time
"Don't you recognize me? " I asked her hopefully
"Two petticoats of mine a few days ago only
One old and the other very new, you had grabbed happily! "
"Maybe! which colours? Red, green, yellow, orange or blue?
It's a daily routine, too tiring, many come, not a few,
But stained with blood all look the same, old or new! "
When on the operation table in the labour room
Lying hapless I was an expectant mom
Struggling hard with inexplicable pain
To bring to light our living breathing dream
She was standing calm like a Buddha in the corner
To clean the room as soon as the process would be over
The room was wrenching with screams and whimpers
And sometimes the cries of the new born
Added with the laughter of the jubilant family members
Thoroughly exhausted and dizzy I was, a proud and pleased mother
Drifting in the dreamland with my bundle of joy, the new comer
Along with the sodden sarees and bloodstained old petticoats
Her unbiased hands bundled the rest
With no sign of even least detestation or discrimination
But to the doctor's dismay and her exasperation
The river of blood flowed freely and I lost my sense
And when I recovered, I saw her holding my new petticoat in her hands
Still, I remember that seasoned face and the new petticoat of mine
Which she must have worn for a long time
Unluckily after a few days only to everyone's concern
I found myself within just a few days in that fateful labour room again
Nothing had changed, the same condition
The same seasoned face with no sign of recognition
She was folding stained petticoats and sodden sarees with much care and least concern
Is this the just reward for the service she renders? A big question
What did she do with so many daily, most tattered and torn?
Or has she turned to an enlightened, indifferent to worldly concerns?
Still, I am unable to forget that seasoned face and the new petticoat of mine
Which she must have worn for a long time
Still, that unexpected cold gesture haunts me often
But more than that the memory of the new petticoat that's forever gone