The chair from 1960 that my dad refuses to throw,

Occupies 3,888 square centimeters of our house

That 3,888 square centimeters is teeming with million tons of memories that are peerless and pleasant.

Crafted with teakwood, having minute fissures and fractures

Causing eruption of emotions

Releasing the aroma of nostalgia for my dad.

Dense plastic threads intricately intertwined

Forming the upper rest and the lower base.

The cushion though missing,

But no complaints made against it!

It evaporated with time.

Not humans but various material possessions and objects enjoy the chair’s heritage, quiescence, and comfort.

Owned by none other than my grandmother.

I was six years old when she departed from the world;

My dad and his sister are credible sources for her peculiar habits.

She enjoyed sipping chai leaning on her chair,

Along with watching movies and scrubbing her ivory-white teeth with miswak.

Her single glance was enough to cause shudders in my dad and his three siblings

Never found the need to elevate her tone,

Her fuming glance did more than enough for her children that were grown.

Whenever my grandfather tried to sit in her chair,

He would have to face a handkerchief attack that even the speed of light could not match.

Qawwalis, my grandfather loved to hear

Even the neighbor one floor above will bear witness to the qawwalis he hummed.

Radio’s sound was always louder than my grandma’s stern look.

Grandpa tolerated a hearing complication,

Heard less, but felt more!

Still, in the eyes of my dad, this huge piece of non-shining teakwood is more

lustrous than any diamond you can find on this planet!

More beautiful than any peerless piece an artisan could craft!

Sweeter than honey!

Softer than cotton!

Whiter than the moon!

More expensive than any treasure trove!

It is a treasure trove filled with a son’s love for his mother

Unbreakable,

Unbound, and

Everlasting!