Written piece
The Chair
Radhika Krishna
India
About this piece
The Chair is a poem exploring the desires and secrets of three generations of women. The Chair is also a silent carrier of their garments and emotions which evolve over time.
The Chair
I am at home, a forgotten memory,
In a quiet corner, sometimes collecting dust.
Overlooked but still willing to hold—
The memories and lifelines coming my way.
*
Grandma Sushila, with her big naïve eyes,
Her innocence endless, her eruption of giggles—
All replaced by a conservative laugh,
Tamed by her surroundings.
But she was once a young girl too,
I carried all her clothes—
Soft cotton Kurtis for summer,
Heavy cardigans for winter.
She had a pink cardigan she loved—
She would have worn it every day if she could.
I carried her on her wedding day too—
Holding her embroidered red and gold Kanjeevaram saree.
She would leave me now;
I carried her all the time she needed.
*
I rest in a corner of Priya’s room—Sushila’s firstborn.
She holds secrets; I smell them on her school uniform,
Often singled out in school,
She survives on sleepless nights and quiet dignity.
I carried her when she decided she would not be a doctor,
I could sense the confusion from her school blazer—
That smelled of her salty hot tears.
Her parents didn’t care,
She would marry soon, her husband managing their future.
I sense her frustration and anger,
As she moves away from home,
All her jeans and dozens of blouses tossed on me—
And I wait until it’s time to be used again.
*
This time by her daughter—Trisha,
Who sits on me, eating her favorite noodles,
While reading textbooks before an exam,
Or a Nancy Drew novel when she is meant to study.
I carry her through her first kiss,
Her favorite blue crop-top, carrying the intensity of it all.
Her clothes are different from what I carried before—
Through her, I taste the feeling of passion on party clothes.
I carry her on high-school graduation, my first experience:
As she walks away confidently in her mauve fitted dress.
The youngest looks after me well, dusts me regularly,
Her constant companion—
With new upholstery in bright yellow.
*
I have been here for generations, many more to come—
Never interrupted in watching them grow.
A silent witness to life unfolding—
Always there, always waiting.