The cracked walls of my aunts home bear black and white photographs of her family.
A beautiful turquoise chair sits near the window ,her favourite place from where she watches the world go by.
She is an old Bengali women wearing her favourite nightgown with prints of orange marigold. Signs of beauty and taste still linger around her. The rickety cupboard door opens to her neatly folded sarees in different colours.
Her house always smells of fresh mustard, brings back memories of the lavish meals she use to prepare for us.
As the sun slowly sets she lights her lamp and says her prayers, something she has continued throughout her life.