“ How could   I know what  an alcoholic was?”

The  dim, dusty, musty, cluttered  room  

Of  the house, shall  I say, haunts. No! for

Certitude.   The  memory lingers, of  those

Hard, hardening , your muscles  and lines

Across  your  hands. Those vials and   lemon       

Were  meant to  pep up   your  spirits. Some

Ginger  tea  and  coffee light would  alleviate

Our   pained hearts and  body too.

 Life  was meant   for  us, to eke  out

 a precarious living  and . Ma  would 

milk the cow  and cow dung cakes

Meticulously on the wall of the

backyard. The next day hot water

in copper  boiler. The  siesta  and

cool  air in the veranda  would 

enrich  next  day  for  fields .

How  could  I know  what  the alcoholic was!

I  am  a teetotaler.