Maybe the grand parents are here to tell us a few things.

Like the fact that admonishments can be gentle.

That babies look up at crows in wonder so their open mouths become passages for little balls of parrippu rice.

That every half-formed thought and word that comes out of you, is interesting to some one, not everyone but some one.

They’re here to tell us that the lullabies are disappearing and we must collect them in songs before they leave with those who sang them.

And there comes a day when each person will find themselves by a window, in a balcony, or a garden chair to watch life without taking part in it.