my chef,
proficient in cooking,
rude in behaviour. He prepares
delicious food in no time.
An expert, no doubt.
Every Sunday, Algi has
to go to the market, in rain or sun
to buy vegetables, if disallowed
mumbles. Not minding his weak legs,
he walks briskly during the buying spree
Limping he returns with
two basket full of vegetables.
Tumbles the brinjals, carrots,
potatoes, onions on the floor,
segregating them does the totaling
He misses out in the first entry.
Strikes off, calculates once again
goes wrong, undeterred continues
finally arrives at the desired total.
Talks to himself, “have I ever gone wrong”?
Algi is done. Diverts to prepare lunch
Hands over the list to me on the second day.
Checking, find he has added up
things twice.falls short of thirty rupees
When asked he sports a smile.
I leave him there, knowing well
he has made money, that will
last him through the week.
Been with me for fifteen years,
I retain him for his culinary skills
Meenas Poems 