[Translation] The grindstone

I again tripped on it today.
“In this age of electronic appliances,
of mixers, grinders and blenders,
why have you let this
take up so much space?”
grumbled, my mother-in-law,
and I paid no heed.

At my mother’s,
the times were better
and this wasn’t its fate.
Milky white coconuts,
beeds of black pepper,
green and red chillies,
as they got ground,
to fine paste,
even those from across the river
would lick their lips.

Today,
in this fast paced world,
confined to balconies or corridors
of multi-storeyed skyscrapers
with no place to call its own
with no one to take care
like a arid piece of rock,
the grindstone, in its old-age.

Yet one night,
when electricity played truant
and hunger bit in
in the light of the candle,
on the same grindstone
I ground to paste some pulses.
The fragrance of my mother
seeped into and filled my home.
My aching hands, I forgot.

A Poem in Tamil by Vaigai Selvi
Translation : Vijay © 7th October, 2005