Month: November 2020

A little rice for the crow
 every afternoon,
I caw high and low 
calling  them to partake.

They fly down 
 as soon as they hear me. 
 peck the rice along ‘with 
the veggies,

squirrels follow them,
 mynahs wait for their turn
 a banquet held in the corridor 
that conjoin the garden.

I stay a little away 
watching each one of them
 chattering gibberish,  crows 
clean up the mess and depart.

 The ritual is synonymous  
of the ancestors  participation
 in the daily events,  deemed 
as an acknowledgement by the progeny. 

Deriving strength from mythological 
allusions and beliefs I  keep going .
 on smoothened pastures and roughened 
 terrains with facility and felicity.

It is a quarrel among siblings
not ten or twelve years of age.
 between the ones in their sixties, 
a few of them  seventy and above,

It is not for a chocolate or ice cream, 
but for  dearer ones  properties ,
jewellery, funds, ranging from 
thousands to millions,

Fighting like children these seniors shout, 
even go to the level of beating each other
 a bit too much, forgetting their years
 and their mobility,

Referring their case to another 
who has amassed the entire ‘wealth 
by deceiving his sibling , the veterans
await the outcome,

Deciphering  an ironical  semblance 
to the symbol of justice where 
the lady is blindfolded, I stand to see
the children as they start playing 
forgetting the differences.

Commercial transactions 
in the office. I view the traffic  
from home a few meters away.

Disallowed to enter the premises
 I manage to enter once in a way.
 MR, Luff, the plantation agent,

is busy drawing out the schedules,
I watch him  through the glassed 
windows,

A white  rod like one between his lips
exhibits a red cinder at the butt 
white fumes come as he puffs.

the fumes travel in waves, 
 Amused I  run  back home,
spread  white talcum powder, 

on a thick paper, roll it tight 
relax in a sofa on the aisle,
put my legs over the other

as MR Luff,  place the roll 
 between my lips. puff hard

 pushing the powder 
“success”, I shout  as the white fumes 
emanate. dad stops by,

pulls  the roll, throws it in the bin,
Warns  me not to do this again,
 Why? What did I do? I sob.

I wake up  
to the dominance
of Silence.

What has happened to the crows?
 Why are they not up?
 The cawing is not heard. 

Where have the squirrels gone?
 Those which cross, dash, run, as though
deployed  for essential errands,

By the way, what about those dogs?
 who howl at  and chase 
the most frivolous targets.

Lo! the walkers who move smart
stretching the arms, folding their legs
 akin to a circus man, are nowhere.

Sitting on the steps I wait,
 Nothing,  really nothing 
takes place.

Did I wake up early?
 I consult my companion, 
my smart phone.

It says 2.30 in the morning.

I hear the sound of rains
once when I woke up
continues till the time 
with a gentle  pour,
not very harsh 
 nor anyway light.

 I am unable to see the bright 
cheerful sun as like every day
a seemingly dark light 
focuses on the exterior 
the intensity being very thick 
 lights have to be switched 
on to the full to increase visibility.

Remaining inside listening
to the noise of the rains
 I could find nothing 
better than lie on the bed 
staring at the ceiling 
while my mind travels 
across the continents.

traversing mountains and seas,
experiencing the  time zones
interacting with people 
of varied cultures, a vivid 
show the mind extends
being a powerful distractor 
of the reality in encompassed virtues.

Come Sundays, we rejoice,
food served during 
breakfast and lunch,
not much of dinner.

Would be sambar bath ,
with papad, plain rice
 with avial and chips.
payasam in the run. 
all too much to eat 
but we did till we 
licked our fingers dry.

With the retinue of chefs
 helpers,  who were excellent 
food technicians, the execution 
was perfect, one which I retrospect
with a fall back. Where have 
all of them gone? Has their tribe 
got extinct?

 with the maid 
 I am having. 
am able to prepare 
the very basic ones.
however much I teach her
 she makes a mess of the whole 
 turns them  insipid and taste.

Years of  rich gourmet 
have spoilt me, I crave
for the delicacies. which 
seem unattainable,

Crackers explode
 fireworks burst 
 the town rocks. 

A commemoration of 
Krishna’s deadly blow 
against  Naragasura,

an evil asura, who pleads 
to the Lord, the day of his death 
 be celebrated .

 Diwali  marks the death 
 of Naragasura, a correlation
to the conquest of good over evil.

Oh Krishna!  Hare Krishna!
Hare hare!

The asura is dead for long
evil grows, spreads, assumes 
various forms.

Diwali comes every year.

The three of them have come back
 like firefighters armed and with
extraordinary force and new 
chiseled weapons.

 The first one crawls on me 
drives me to make incessant 
 “ahem” sounds both in the high octaves 
and the lowest bass.

The next encloses me in a tight net
 a kind of suffocation occurs,
 I try to squeeze, my chest blows
like the bellows.

The third one enforces a dizziness
 I wriggle, curl and shove myself 
into a blanket unable to tolerate 
the cold.

The fighters keep me under control 
each year during this month
 throwing me out of gear.  Love 
 to name the annual visitors in order.

cough, wheeze and fever
who never fail to grapple me 
every year right from the age
of five.

 Doing crossword
 in the dining area, with
the door fully open.

 the  bright sunlight 
gushes in, the breeze 
flows through,

Engrossed in solving the puzzle
 I did not notice a tiny  
one nearby.

 Once I hear a gritting sound,
 I look across to find from
 where it comes.

Lo!  it is right in front of me.
a piece of fur from 
my new red door mat

is in its mouth,  looks gagged almost
 that saves my mat.
else the major will be bitten.

I shoo the squirrel off
it did not hurry as I expect
but trots with ease,

I am fascinated by long hair
one of my friends had,
I do not know if she still has
a very long hair, thick gleaming
reached up to the knees,

My short, soft, wavy hair
looked so poorly beside hers.
My mom plaited them when
I was a kid. I tie my hair
little above the neck

held by a small black
hair band, colour is a mix
of salt and pepper,
a privileged combination.
I tell myself.

The longing for long hair
has not been realized by me
however much I tried
to possess one, by applying
and massaging

my hair with oils in the market
which boast of voluminous growth.
In the milieu my hair fell in locks
exposing my scalp, felt terrible
during those days.