Looking for vegetables in Mayur Vihar market in the evening of all time

Dida knew how to pick the right vegetables for dinner.
Okra, brinjal, cauliflower & ginger.
Holding an umbrella in one hand
She asked the vendor to weigh a kilo.

In the evening light she measured
His fingers handling the scale
With careful eyes
Learnt from a lifetime’s reading.

She knew
Which way those fingers would go
Which finger could tip the scales
To cheat us of a few grams.

Moving on, she asked
The price of mangoes, those luscious red ones
Recently arrived, with exotic names
Fit for an emperor.

I was only getting acquainted with
The fine art of sifting vegetables
Staring at the beginning of domesticity
While she had a lifetime’s experience.

Bringing up five daughters, with little in the pocket
She knew which way the road would lead.
It shouldn’t be too hard or too soft
She explained, holding a tomato.

It should just feel right in your palms. 
Soon I would learn to tell time
From the whistle of a pressure cooker.
It was walking distance –

The way to the 6^th floor
In a rented flat just painted.
She would chop vegetables
Watching a crime series on TV.

I lay on my bed
Waiting for a slip disc to disappear.
My wife called every night
To check how things were.

It was her new job, she said
They were training her to sift stories from news bytes.
Over dinner Dida would talk –
Those old days

When women couldn’t go to college.
Now, she said, things were getting better.
Now you can keep roti inside a refrigerator
And preserve feelings like pickle for dinner.

Note: Dida is grandmother in Bangla.