Meenas Poems

Soon after his return from South Africa
 Mahatma Gandhi participates in the Indian
freedom struggle.

Shunning violence he takes the cudgels
of Satvika.  He practises with faith
 India is freed decades later.

Without weapons, without bloodshed,
hitherto unknown to the world. Gandhi
recovers the country from the British.

Cycling in the evening
soon after I come from school
is my play.. Counting 1, 2, 3, I fly
like a whirlwind,

Zoom, zoom, the bicycle runs
keeping pace with my anxiety.
“Hai, Hai”, I wave to my cook
 who brings in a glass of milk.

My enthusiasm grows. as my bicycle
takes off like an airplane, whir, whir, I speed.
  lose balance, suffer a jolt at count 20,
I mind not the interruption.

 From 22 onwards I experience
 a setback, unable to cop I pedal hard
exerting pressure. My poor feet mourn
 Somehow, I reach count 30.

Bemused the cook signals to the back.
Alighting, I turn back furious, see my dad
perched on the carrier sporting a smile.
He picks me up and throws me in the air.

Breaks into a guffaw, his usual demeanor.
Winking at the cook he carries me inside.
 Places me in my mom’s lap, narrates
the affair with fringes and frescoes

–

My mother’s eyes stay behind
 follow me where I go.

Overtake and come in front
 when I talk to strangers.

The eyes give instructions,
twinkle when I speak right,

stare when I go wrong.
cast down when I fail,

caution when I am about
to pronounce something important.

They retreat when I am finished, walk
with me till I reach the destination.

The garden looks uncouth

ups and downs in the driveway,

thud, thud go the vehicles.

intermittent patches of grass

high and low, a semblance of 

a beard with tuft and stubble,

stones and pebbles strewn around

 deliver it unholy.

To work affordable, I design

 a lengthy lawn, measuring 

100 feet by 5 feet, royal palms 

stand as warriors each ten feet apart,

 aloe Vera both green and red, play

the role of helpers on either side 

of palms, portulaca around the palms,

act as  colourful  subordinates.

Further away, shrubs of Jasmine,

Chandini, stalks of Oleander, orchids 

gaze at the sky, Rose beds punctuate 

 the driveway, On the Northeast, Ishanya 

 Bilva with three leaves, denoting ‘

the three eyed Shiva, Tulasi, Vishnu’s 

 favourite and Nagalingam tree find home,

Completing the distinguished placements, 

I retire for the day,

 

 A lifelong wait has ended

 I sigh with relief. Not too soon

 it opens and closes like

 a May flower, shimmers in the sun

 shuts up at dusk.

The carousel is transient

 hours do not count

 nor days stand in a row

 it is years like a long tail

 nearly a decade, a quarter 

of a century to be precise.

 crawling, walking, jogging,

 running,’ sleeping, turning dormant,

 picks a momentum, swoons 

and falls half dead, resurrects, 

droops three fourths paralyzed.

it does not fit into any schedule,

who to blame, I lament the co parceners 

levy little interest mean not the financial

but the execution.  Happy to continue the status quo.

 Their children rap and knock the door.

Let me confess. what I have said is a dignified 

camouflage of their capacity.

It is rain, rain, all day,
 like to shout in a cry
” Rain, rain go away
come again another day.”

Stubborn she is in her play
childlike in her display.
she comes down the whole day
creating an untold dismay.

My open courtyard is logged
Helpless I watch the clogged  
 outlets clear the backlogs
water escapes like a dissembling fog.

Putting my feet back and fore
a game I indulged never before
 I enjoyed forcing an encore.
Rain continues to fall with a roar.

In a place where electricity plays truant.

with a few minutes brilliance

the next ten minutes dim, the light 

slowly dies down.

Power generation is wherever it be 

 turns fickle and undependable, say for example 

 the political scenario Charges, could be either, price

and prize go up calling for an emergency.

 Mosquitoes pin me to a corner, suck my blood,

I find big goosebumps, eyes swell, lips turn blood shot,

My caricature resembles a bloated President

of a Nation which boasts of Democracy,

Mani cries, guava, papaya,

jackfruit, all neatly sliced 

His dad, sits besides, a heap 

of tender coconuts lie in front,

slashes the coconut with 

a sizzle, takes out a tiny bark

delivers with a sweet talk,

a gesture expressing familiarity. 

Rajamma and her husband kali

sweat while preparing fried rice,

mutton soup and omelets, masala 

smell permeates.

Ramani’s Tea stall, has name 

people from neighbouring

areas gather to sip the frothy

spicy tea.

The famed Jigarthanda, local delicacy 

an admixture of milk, almond, sugar, 

and sea grass, goes down the gullet with a swish.

Dinesh sports a dashing trend.

Watching their transactions,

executed with precision, keeping

time and quality, drive me to question.

Did they go to Harvard or Oxford?

The Indian freedom movement, 

 saw Tilak, an extremist

the father of the Indian freedom

another noted one M. K, Gandhi, 

who came from South Africa, 

advocated Ahimsa, a Satvik way 

of fighting, inducing millions of followers.

One such being Narayanan, 

son of a British supporter,

 in his early twenties and the other

is Saraswathi, daughter of a nationalist. 

Both having decided individually

 to remain unmarried.  “Gain Freedom”

is their ultimate aim.

Driven by patriotism, they write letters 

to Gandhi, to intervene and stop the alliance,

 Their high placed fathers indulge to make both tie the knot.

 Gandh, respecting the stature of the seniors., keeps 

quiet.

Narayanan and Saraswathi, unable to defy 

their powerful fathers, marry on 22/Aug/1947, 

a week after the Indian independence.

They, who were reluctant, fall headlong

into marital bliss, raise a family, a big one rather,

a brood of six, I am one of them.

 .

Taj Mahal is astounding, 

breathtaking, lovely,

shouts the world.

 A wonder. one of the seven 

in the world, the only one in India–

 hyperbolic in respects.

Closer to me there are temples

 built and formed out of caves,

 eliciting the finest architecture,

12 Gopurams, 33000 sculptures,

1000 pillared hall, some produce 

musical notes, an architectural

marvel, called as Meenakshi Temple

stands enrichingly humble, massively small, 

wonderfully submissive, far from this exaggerated 

 

design, in the Southern part of India. 

not very much known to the world

breathing pride and exuding divinity.