Month: March 2021

Fascinated by a little boy,
just eight ears old
who jumps on the bed
tumbles on the sofa
climbs the steps
in supersonic speed
cycles even more faster.
Fear and amazement
place me in a piquancy.

He is a bundle
of joy to behold
His eyes sparkle with mischief.
Animated, he is, so to say,
to contain him is next
to impossibility.
it will be a treason
to resist him. I allow
him to play as long as he wants

He returns exhausted
face flushed, perspiring a lot
drinks a jug full of water
his clothes drip,
his tongue red as fire
juts out, his eyelids gradually
close. Sleep enfolds.,
An incredible transition,
accelerated and inert, takes
place all too soon.

Oh! it is my mother 
 One with many skills 
 proficient in knitting,
 does beautiful embroidery,
 plays Veena, executes 
business deals, over and above
 raises the six of us
 each having distinctive
characteristics.

She tries to teach me 
 all the crafts she mastered
 I perform so badly, disappointed 
 lets me go on my own, The only skill
 I learnt is that of stringing flowers.
one, two, three, I go 
start doing with leaves first
 then with big flowers
 finally with jasmine.
I accomplish, 

Doing that in earnest 
every evening with 
fresh flowers from 
the garden, I keep going
 thinking of my mother, If only 
 I had tried the other ones
 I sigh with grief, mother would
 be the happiest. I would have 
turned a pro, a precursor to all that 
being done with hand.

Twice he calls,
he wishes twice
says everything twice.

He orders twice,
dials twice.
guffaws twice,

We address him
” “Twice, Twice”
teasingly.

He does so, as
in his own words
to make doubly sure”.

He knocks twice,
nods twice,
bathes twice.

He was served twice
the same breakfast
as he had ordered twice.

the waiter refutes
to take back the second one,
poor one, he remains helpless.

he buys tickets for a show,
repeating as usual
gets billed for two.

His assurances
land him in trouble.
That does not change him.

He continues, gesturing
asserting, assuring
not once but twice.

Three of them 
sit on the stools
 one tries to rise
 the other gets down
while the third
 the smallest 
 sits knowing 
not what to do,

This being a ritual
 every Saturday
 of the week,
 With  a bowl 
of sesame oil, 
mildly warm, in which 
 pepper floats.
 a piece of garlic 
shimmers.

Smearing the oil 
first on the body
of the eldest, I 
 rub with force 
over the abdomen, ,
hands and legs,
 finally on the head
 a fair amount goes 
with a strong massage. 

Performing likewise 
on the second 
and the third, I make them
sit for full twenty minutes,
They play happily.
Hearing their scream as
 the oil descends to the eyes,
 turning them red.
I bathe them with traditional 
soap nut powder.

They come out fresh 
the skin looks beautiful 
and soft.  Hair gleams.
 I make them take moringa 
leaves soup. Reluctantly they sip 
the bitter taste lingers for a while.
The day turns out to be hectic ‘
for the children as well as for me.
Those Saturdays. will they come? 

My windows for years
lay open allowing
sunlight and fresh air.

They are fastened
with mosquito nets
where light traces its path,

the wind comes in with
a feeble strain, This being
so for some time,

Of recent, I am
forced to close the doors
as cats and squirrels,

barge in play hide and seek
in the living room
upturning the furniture.

Yesterday, I fell asleep around
11 in the morning leaving
the back door open.

I sleep ‘like a log.
especially in the mornings,
the rodents and the mammals

had a jolly good time
for nearly an hour pulling
down the curios and pen stands.

I lay fast asleep
oblivious to the chaos,
my maid had a tough time

driving them out,
in the milieu she broke
few of the priceless.

Waking up I did not
recognize the place,
where am I? I wonder.