Author: meenas17

Wind blows strong with a roar,
Coconuts fall on the roof, thud thud
it goes, setting the heart to pound.

Unusual of the Sun. It is 4
in the evening. Darkness casts
in full fledge, Down goes the Sun,

Could this be a bad omen?
Is the world going to end?
The throb induces a palpitation.

[i]Lub [/i]a [i]dub [/i]beats the heart
Mild pain radiates through the arm
travels to the wrist.

Pressure accelerates,
resting the head on a raised
pillow, I look around,

Every other thing is in place,
ceiling fan, lights, consoles
remain unscathed. it is only me.

Sun is up again,
wind has ceased,
So do I. Fig like I turn
strong and cheerful

Pictures  of  people, smiling
 proud  of their might, 
 handing over cash, 
bank drafts, oxygen 
cylinders, concentrators,
food, gloves, masks, 
PPE kit, 

The overly rich have access 
to the top brass. immaculately 
dressed not forgetting to wear  
masks  rob the limelight 
with a fat package,

The second rung 
 hand over cash 
and kind to the  District 
Administrators. I presume  
the schedules to  be 
less heavy.

The Deputy officers 
receive from the third 
strata, must be  minimal
 say in thousands, Cameras 
capture the grin and pride
 of the giver.  

I think of the Doctors, 
Nurses, Drivers, Technicians, 
and the workers  in the graveyard.
pledging  their life,, toiling 
to revive the afflicted.

Their family  is  in  constant fear,  
death looms large, Sleepless eyes, 
aching arms, wry smiles,  go
 unphotographed.

As a girl, I thought 
I am non pareil, a heir
to a prosperous  businessman.

Still more, felt elated 
to be a child of a talented 
rich lady

I grew up  in splendour
under strict inspection
 impossible to deviate.

Prescriptions were set
schedules fixed, clothes 
starched and ironed,

outfits being traditional,
long skirts while young,
cotton sarees while as a girl.

Tutors came in the evening,
vocal, dance and playing 
on veena, every alternate day,

Routine I could never escape.
I went  to school with 
a tight single plait, 

a string of flowers
pinned to the hair,
a red round kum kum 

bhindi on the center 
of the forehead,  
were trademarks 

which identified me through 
school and university,  extend 
to this day with a minor change.

My  peppery hair has gone up 
in the form of a tiny bun like knot,
while my gait has altered marginally.

A slow walk  with an oscillation
to balance my aching knees,
has  assumed a dominance.

I hear a call from far,
” Amma, wait,  I have come
 to drive you back home.”

I have walked a kilometer
from my house,  thinking 
of the past and the present.
No thought of future for now

The adjective tough
been attributed to me
by a relation some years back
remains evergreen in memory.

What made her say so?
 I wonder, involving a  contextual 
deliberation, till date 
could not find an answer.

Am I a miser? I introspect.
 or do I look  fierce? 
 Does she find my quietude 
 tough? I research  seriously.

Bringing  in various propositions 
 proportion, equations, I try to solve.
The answers, I derive,  are not finite.
I repeat the word tough hundred and one times.

This epithet leaves me bothering,
 I turn restless. My indignation
 settles for the present.  It will surface 
with added chagrin  soon.

The lawn looks green
 from a distance,
going near I find
 it to be in tufts,
 similar to an head 
with knots of hair 
 unevenly grown.

Even closer, they 
appear to be in streaks,
long, thin and thorny
akin to an head
on the verge of turning 
bald.

There is no grass whatsoever
just prickly plants that pierce
through the soles of the  shoes
hurt  the feet  with a spasm.
Withdrawing as quick as possible 
 I turn back limping.

Krishna, my gardener, rushes in.
Cuts the thorns  and weeds.
He avoids  my eyes.  I keep mum.
 Controlling my indignation,
 I talk to myself in a subdued tone,
“Krishna is growing old, forgive him”.

My mind remains idle.
 Knowing fully well 
an idle man’s brain 
is a devil’s workshop,
 I  gaze at nothing,
 chuckle, gesticulate 
at everything,

Nothing is infinity 
screams my inactive mind.
The pendulum oscillates 
with a tick, I am unmoved 
stare at the brick. Eternity 
is fascinating quips 
my heart.

With the book in hand
 I relax in my couch,
The book mark, a laced 
 pretty one with quotes 
remains  on the same
page for days, in 
Page 25.  Stuck like me
aimless.

With nothing to do 
I am at all places,
spilling, spreading,
reading, writing,
talking, all done. with\
 least interest.

Nestling close to a concept,
I do not know what it is?
Clinging to it, I move on
without realizing  what 
it could be? Mystical anyway,
enough  to sustain me, an 
instinct to survive.

In between the walls,
inside the rooms
windows opening
into the garden.
which let me see 
the outer world
though a limited dimension,
 I spend the days.

Weeks, months and years 
have rolled  in their own space,
but to me it is a doldrum 
moving in snail’s space.
Like a caged  animal,
I pace up and down,
move from room to room
a body in motion.

My cars will go out of gear
a start, a raise and a switch off,
performed to keep them alive.
I open the gate, doors, so as to keep 
them  working. Goes the laundry,
the cooking, watering, bathing, 
cleaning non stop cause 
life has to go on.

The yearly flower show 
an annual attraction
when people from the plains
gather in the hills 

Ooty, an endearing town,
 in the Western ghats,
has a  royal salutation,
 Queen Of  Hill Stations.

activates a  diaspora
where colours exude 
pastel, dark, soft, green
as a canvas.

Those who see buildings,
concrete structures, find 
the scenario  enchanting,
 the very beauty intoxicating

This year the exuberance
goes unwatched, unsung
as enforced lockdowns 
restrict travel and gathering.

 Financials go abegging.
Tourism takes a back step.
The Queen, in the middle 
of trees and flowers, nestles 
in solitude.

A fierce sun comes out 
during the first week of May 
lasts till the the third week.
21 days steadfast 

 Known as Agninatchathram,
where Sun burns like fire
scorches the skin, sucks 
the water out.

Man remains a shell of his self
while e earth appears 
parched, broken turns 
lifeless.

Trees look pale, flowers
shrink and droop, dogs 
go panting with, tongues 
hanging out.

Sun turns merciless 
Its brilliance blinds,
The rays penetrate
 prick and hurt.

Abundance  of heat suffocates,
so to say, the giver of life
flouts and plunders without
concern. 

Nature  behaves like a villain
Attacks, slaughters, turns 
the world upside down.
It is  but natural.

Folding the sheets, pillow cases,
without creases, starching the handwoven 
sarees, take my life out.

I recall the days when I slogged 
the whole day caring  the children,
running in directions  tirelessly.

Of recent, even a slight exertion causes 
an exhaustion. I heave  hard  like 
an old puffing train run on steam,

Perspiring  profuse, I  hear a feeble 
whistle from my nostrils akin to the 
rickety  old train’s blowing.

 I, like the train, slow down
 when I am about to reach
 the destination  at 9 in the night

the day draws to a close ,
smoke and steam diffuse, My eyes 
close as slumber  overwhelms.