47 A prolonged narrow border. Positioned neatly between two flattened, prostrated playfields of black hair, oiled. A strange partition. Ma's parted hair Colourless sun-dried skin, skimmed thoroughly on the maternal chulha The aesthetic spectare of impassive orange coals descending into nothingness, The urgent comfort of passengers travelling in the northern winds of Punjab, granted. Ma's parting has been prolonged, long. Extending to the back of her neck Negotiating her spine to bending Negotiating. Bending. The dichotomy of unnoticed partings, bloodless partitions running deep inside my blood Ma's partition, the no woman's land I wonder if she remembers undirected directions. I wonder if she remembers at all, Her sepia tinted pictures of Sadhna Cut Her birthday, March 28, 1974 I was born 6 days before my mother The days, they pass, but the years. The years speak, The years decay, Ma is mostly silent, placid, old. My hair speaks in blue dried waves, verses My parting is a canvas, I paint it with this poem. But ma has made a life out of it, a portrait on the canvas. The Permanency of colour red (vermilion) 2021-1974= 47 | 1947 The dichotomy of unnoticed partings, a million partitions, partitions; bloodless, ceremonial & regular. -Ridhi Bhutani Chulha (A word from Hindi, meaning): traditional coal burner) (Ref: Indian Partition, 1947) Ref: Sadat Hussain Manto's short story, “Toba Tek Singh”)