Meenas Poems

The summer is at its peak
households turn busy.
The womenfolk list 
their buys.

It reads, Mangoes 100 .
 eggplants  10 kilo, 
broadbeans 10 kilos,
onion 10 kilo. sundaikai  1 kilo.

Kitchens become the hub of activity.
Cutting,  steaming, sauteing, filing the 
cooked in  palmyra  baskets, transfeering 
to the courtyard,

“Olai pais” are laid in the area 
open to the sky, the steamed eggplants 
are spread in seamless order, 
 other vegetables follow  suite.

Mangoes are ripped off their skins
cut with precision, smeared 
with salt, kept overnight. Enter 
the company of others, next day

Finely chopped onions mixed 
with  ground“tur dal”,
red chilly, coriander leaves, cast as 
small balls occupy  the central stage.

What an aura of colour!
yellow, red, green,  delighted 
I watch them dry 
in the bright sunlight.

it is between two homes.
the first and the second, 
  I live alternating to the demands,

The one in the country of origin 
 holds a fascination. It is where
I wish to stay long.

It does not happen.
as the other one demands
more focus.

 a place of business.
returns  have to sustain me 
I remain longer. 

Shifting base is no fun.
I make a mess of both 
forget,  search, abandon

I start at one 
and end up in another,
 calls being such,

 I am unable to program 
 Nomad like I move 
  with bags always packed.

I spend most of the mornings 
and part of the evenings 
in my patio abutting the garden

reading  and staring
at the  blue sky then  gazing  
the lane, alternating  both,

In the nights, Brownie 
substitutes for  me, sleeps 
holding to the cushion

of the bamboo chairs,
 like a ball, snores
and snorts. The patio is live.

It is morning, I open
the doors, to find my patio
with imprints of muddy paws, 

Brownie hearing 
the sound of the latch
gathers herself

jumps  down runs 
helter skelter  without 
turning back.

 I preside over the morning 
session,  Brownie at dusk.
the way we share our space,

I recollect  with nostalgia 

Enthused by success I spend 
the time in mirth,

A small gathering of like 
minded people,

celebrate over a cup of tea
the progress we have made 

This year the day holds 
an untold silence.

Commercial interactions
are struck down,

Revenue has depleted 
could say little or nothing .

Where is it going to lead?
I ask myself.

 Achachoo !the day draws to a close
before I can find an answer.

This day, in my solitude
I go back to my school,
saunter there for a while,
 hop on to the school bus,
 jump out when it stops.
 push the gates with might
 run into the courtyard
 where my mom is playing 
on the Veena, 

The house echoes 
the beats, melody flows unabated
 I refrain from calling  “atha”
careful not to disturb her, 
sneak into the dining area
 noiselessly eat the hot  samosas,
 start hiccuping after biting 
a green chilly.

The sound grows in volume 
” who is there?” asks mom distracted.
I go before her,  My mouth
fully stuffed, I keep mum 
my eyes turn teary, sensing her anger.
my legs tremble. Mom is about to burst,
I stand bewildered, She   breaks into
laughing,  I am able to smile.
My mouth is only half full. 

Masks  are for  bandits
who  with a knife
barge in the midnight.

My imagination stops there.
as I see masks on every face
the nose and mouth hidden

 Every face seems similar
difficult to identify. Is she 
  Shreya or Sneha?  

I think aloud as the masks 
lend  a strange cue. The face 
resembles  a mass  of flesh

similar to a  ball,  the eyes 
usurp the delineations.
nothing much can be made, 

noses long and short,
sharp and blunt, lips pink   
 and thin,  dark and thick

lie concealed behind 
the coloured mask of  multiple
 layered non woven fabrics, 

 or a strip of cloth or hand 
kerchief, the one of choice
extend a monotony,

 sans the distinctive features 
which go to make each 
individual  unique.

The latest trend seen is not 
because of stylish vogue, 
one enforced for safety

The bell goes.  Play time, shout 
 the third graders with glee,
try to  rush out  of the classroom.

Yolanda stops them, makes
 them  stand in line,
 one behind the other,

  “keep a decent distance between 
each other,  with fingers on the lips 
go one after another,”

she instructs. A military discipline, 
in their walk confers a charm. The next 
moment play ground bustles with activity,

She permits no physical touch,
not that she knew of Covid ,
she  fears  infighting,

Yolanda, a kind  teacher,
 just out from college, is scared 
of children hitting each other,

 she loves each one  so dear,
 allows them to  play, 
what they wish,

one is swinging high and low,  the other 
comes down on the slide,  two others
go up and down in a sea saw.

The young girl turned teacher 
sings  sweetly as she plays 
“ring a ring a roses” with 
‘the timidest of all.

Wash your hands,
 I yell at my maid,
 she sports a smile.

She is in the kitchen
 grinding the batter.
I call her from within
” do not  add salt.” 

I will do it”” amma,  I have 
sanitized my hands,”
“No, no, you have to wash 
with soap”, I shout .

“Sanitizing is only 60% safe,
 washing thoroughly gets rid 
off bacteria,’ Fed up with 
my constant screaming,

 she  lets me do the mixing
 allow it  to ferment overnight.
 she has to  serve idlis tomorrow.
Will she wash her hands? 
I start worrying. 

Months go by without events,
 sitting at home doing nothing.
 a forced confinement, nurture 
  a fear to open the door, experience 
 a  sensibility as if belonging to  nowhere 

It  seems to be so near 
yet far from  eradication. Pandemic  
  is mirage like, it eludes.
 rises,  falls, kills
 grave it  turns. 

My town insulated so long,
 catches up with the others,
 cases increase in tens, twenties.
 hundred and above it touches
 complete lockdown is enforced.

Disheartening, it is, 
 exasperation mounts,
 a deliberation  as Why so? 
and what for?  keeps gnawing.
 undergoing an untold oppression.

I recollect  with nostalgia 

Enthused by success I spend 
the time in mirth,

A small gathering of like 
minded people,

celebrate over a cup of tea
the progress we have made 

This year the day holds 
an untold silence.

Commercial interactions
are struck down,

Revenue has depleted 
could say little or nothing .

Where is it going to lead?
I ask myself.

 Achachoo !the day draws to a close
before I can find an answer.