The threads of the Indian village 

Across the borders, across the world

Will forever be ingrained in my memory:

The threads of the sun’s rays as it peeks above the village gutta

With its animals grazing

And its temple sitting atop

The threads of the powder in the rangoli designs at the doorstep

With its weaving strings of powder

And the water splashing them away

The threads of savory-sweet dough in jalebi

With its sugar dissolving onto my tongue

And the orange weaving its way to my heart

The threads of the ribbons in the passing schoolchildren’s hair

With their giggles as they run down the dirt road

And their smiles as they walk out with their books

The threads of spicy smells from the kitchen in the next room

With my grandma’s masterful skills

And her tangy delicacies

The threads of the woven bamboo disk 

With the rice jumping in 

And the women sieving through it

The threads of dust that rise in the air

With its enormous herd of goat passing by

And the other animals gathering around

The threads in the ropes in my grandpa’s hardware store

With its dusty metal smells

And heartwarming customers

The threads in my grandmother’s sari

With its emerald green silk

And gold-embroidered stitches

The threads of hair in the baby monkey’s golden tail 

With its protective mother trailing behind

And stopping passersby

The threads of the Indian village in my memories

Which I have never really left behind

Will forever be woven tightly together in my heart