We try to remember her in a white cloth over the head, covering a stubble fifteen day old, from twenty year old widowhood, a semi-wet cloth resting on the wall peg, honoring a husband dead on opium, who had made kids on the night ,on this side of her bed.
We have to remember grandmother’s grandmother now over our rice offerings on fires lit, to some sacred chants calling the spirits of the dead hungry in the air.
We remember her name in the smoke.We do not know her grandma’s name. She must have had her own egg-head and a widow cloth over it to a husband dead with opium, doing nothing except make her many kids , on fecund nights.
He might have had a good time beating wife in the day , make her big by night . When he is weeping dead on the cot ,she too must have submitted her head to barber’s knives in his honor and hung a new cloth of widowhood on a wall peg.