Grandma's Old Mirror

That little mirror carved out of wood, intricately designed,

layers of dust, gathering on the artsy curvatures, lying,

lying somewhere in the rubble of unused items in the house,

I wonder what stories it has hidden inside it.

I remember grandmother, combing her hair, looking into it,

sometimes, I held it, as she tied the knots in her hair, gently,

multiple knots, one atop the other, whilst looking into the mirror,

and placing it back on a shelf on the wall.

I remember her sometimes, casually, immersed into it, probably,

counting the criss-cross of the lines on her skin, probably,

reminiscing those days, she had long, long hair, flowing on and on,

reduced now, a bit, colored in greyish white, and smiling,

at the time that flowed by, changed, evolved, probably,

this mirror of hers, proving to be a medium,

to peek into her soul.

As I took it out, all dusty and a bit discolored,

splattered with spots, of bindis from times, unknown, all around it,

I wondered how many generations of people must have had,

looked into it, to enhance one's beauty, or to smile at oneself,

to feel that everything's fine, you just have to keep smiling,

and wade ahead, wade ahead, in the river of life.

***

A bindi (from Sanskrit bindú, meaning "point, drop, dot or small particle") is a colored dot worn on the center of the forehead, originally by Hindus and Jains from the Indian subcontinent.

I have seen in my home that mothers and grandmothers using the sides of a mirror to stick their bindis to, and when needed pick one up from it, wear them, and take a final look in the mirror to see if everything's fine.