She scurried around, supervising the festoons, painting the Rangolis. The saris arrived, I watched her in awe as she sorted the bunch, tending to individual preferences.
“Green for your aunt, red for your cousin, I’ve kept your favourite bright shades away.” She winked, as she picked an off- white one for herself.
“Sit here Ma.” I pulled her close. “Baba’s long gone, you’ve tended to all my needs, kept everyone happy. It’s my wedding, and I won’t let your life be colourless anymore.”
She turned misty-eyed as I replaced the white drape with her beloved blue sari, Baba’s last gift.