The Blue Plymouth


It is vacation.
We go to Coonoor,
a quiet town in the Nilgiris.

Mother and the six of us
travel in a blue plymouth
early in the morning.

Have breakfast under a big neem tree
after a two hour drive.  The “idlis”
with chutney appease our hunger.

The hills appear. We negotiate
each hairpin  bend slowly
while two of us  turn sick.

The driver halts.To ease
our nausea we take a stròll.
Once we are better the journey  resumes.

We cross Sims Park,  pass Pasteur Institute,
drive through Porter’s Avenue .  Our Bungalow
Mostyn Park stands majestic.

Tired, we have a quick shower
devour the roti and potatoes
and in a moment fall into a slumber.

The very next day we go up the hills,
roll in the grass, a pony ride awaits,
climb the plum tree.

Mom has a large garden. The sprawling lawns
and the flower beds win Governor’s trophy.
The kitchen garden cliinches the rolling shield.

We eat a lot, turn rosy and grow sideways.
It is time to go back as the schools will reopen.
The blue plymouth comes to the porch.

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