Six of us, the sibling are hurled
into a Blue Plymouth.
We set off to Coonoor,
a hill station, nestling
in the Western Ghats.
It is a six hour journey
packed tight, we could
hear each other breathe,
continue with mom
in full control.
The drive, through the hills
with fourteen sharp
hair pin bends, proves a task
to the driver. He negotiates
the curves with utmost attention.
like a pack of cards we
fall on each other. through
every bens, furious
with the one who has
fallen on the other. we engage
in a noisy fight,
As we climb up the hills
the valley down is picturesque
with huge trees of Mangosteen,
Durian, a stretch of tall palms
with ripe areca nuts parade the borders.
A whiff of air breezes through
loaded with anaroma
. of the fruits and nuts. Sniffing
honking and pausing
we reach the top.
Alighting from the car,
alas! a great release, we run
into the house, to be received
by the old caretaker and his
matronly wife.
Freshening up we play
under the Christmas tree,
run up to the woods, there on
to the tea gardens, accosted
by the evening walkers ,
who greet us with an embrace,
remark we have grown tall,
exclaim with disbelief.
Oh! It is almost a year
since we saw you.
Meenas Poems 