It's been seven months Mother, and this world is new, all the things once normal, now number in few. We're still allowed to express- grief, love and pain, but not without a mask, and certainly from a distance.  So I'm unsure if anything really has changed, what hasn't, I'm sure, is the sound of your name. We've been waiting for a vaccine, waiting for some cure, wishing it'd come before you arrived at our door. Because you, Mother, bring out the children in us; all the reckless, the careless, the shebang and the rush. I woke up on Mahalaya to the sound of your beats, to an ageless story that I dare not miss, And I prayed to your powers for this enemy to fall, for the foe this time is dangerously small. The streets, this year, won't be crawling the same, the pandals this year, would be low on shine, so the ones that visit your homes this year, will look at you after a very long time.  A lot of lives have been lost moth...