Every morning, I used to hear her restless bangles and restive anklets stretching on the bed.

The tingling of anklets, I heard them watering the flower plants in the garden, the sound fading and emerging again moving from one room to another dusting and arranging things, the sound that signaled a morning tea, while I curled up in bed.

The clinking of bangles, as they made chapattis in the evening, as they  flapped the wet washed clothes in the sun, and as they stroke my hair while I rested in her lap..

‘Anxious bangles’ that arranged my school bag whenever I got late, ‘affectionate bangles’ that oiled my hair after a long tiring day, ‘compassionate bangles’ that wiped my tears every time I failed in life.

A dozen of bangles and a pair of anklets, they sing the song of her love;

The song of love, that echoes in every corner of the house and every room of my heart.