From a Kashmir anthology: From childhood to death, a man watches his mother struggle with loneliness

As she worked the mud plaster onto the wall, she reached the doorpost and paused to rest for a moment. She might have wanted to daub the wall above it as well, but it rose far above her … so high that even with her arms stretched up, it was impossible to reach. She glanced around the empty room, her eyes drifting from one wall to the next. Grabbing the smearing mop, she searched for a way to reach the wall over the doorpost.

Her gaze stopped at me and, for a while, she forgot her work. I had reached that stage of life when a human, newly past crawling, begins practising standing on two feet. My attempts had left a few circles of stains on the floor during her mopping.

“My scruffy one,” she said, “please don’t leave behind these circles!”

But there was no real complaint in her voice. Instead, she was pleased that I’d crossed an important milestone of the crawling era and was now gathering myself to stand on two feet. Seeing the glisten of her moist lips, a surge of energy rushed through me and, staring at her, I tried again to stand upright. At first, my hands slipped back to...

Read more