A Song 102

Bonier than drumsticks,
wasted as flowers,
she hawks,
is Shyama
crouched on road edges;
smiles dripping from
a pot-holed mouth,
she talks of
lone daughter's wedding
to a boy, a bank peon;
she will be free
in Saphale,
alone,
wiping shadows
off mud walls;
Titan Rani,
Titan a bulge
on surgical knees,
Rani a pug,
are not in Church for Mass;
'my church' misses both:
the prayer and bark;
they tap their home
with walking sticks;
Old Man,
wrapped in jeans, T-shirt,
unwraps at the grotto,
looking beyond folded palms
searching a smoke;
Gandhari,
bright as her
Saphale farm products,
packs up Deepavali cash,
to roof a broken home;
Leave no stains
on part-tarred,
part-cemented,
Link Road,
feathered with waste
of Deepavali crackers.


   

Piggy

'Wodehouse wrote a
a pig, Empress of Blandings,
into a hero..
none else..
Mostly,
in fury,
you,
make us curry,
without a sorry..'
whistled the pink and white pig behind a fence on Link Road to Kartik and Ajoba on an evening with the sun on a downturn. He stood under a peepal inside October leaf droppings. He snorted a Hai, twiddled a short curve of a tail, and Ajoba thought laughed as Kartik took a video. He posed and Ajoba styled him Piggy; 'what a name,' thought Piggy but went along. When the three took a selfie, Piggy took the entire camera. 'No Satyajit Ray has clicked me. Thank you, Kartik. You are the first director, maybe the last, as the word is I am up for Sunday lunch,' said Piggy. Kartik beamed at somebody calling him a director and thought of taking him along to MAMI Film Festival or pack him in plastic as hand baggage; would make interesting company; if MAMI films turn boring, as they mostly do; Kartik could pass time feeding Lays to Piggy. For the moment, Piggy wanted to see his parents located in the bushes of LIC Colony; it seems they had placed on earth a new breed with one of them a turn witty; to escape stray dogs, the little fellow ran across the road, between the legs of an old man on a stick; old man fell, cursed: 'soovar ka baccha'; the little fellow speeded, braked a speeding scooter with the contents hitting the road; he squeaked and left; parents are searching and Piggy wants to help; they have filed a missing complaint at the police station; but the police said they could not do much without a pix and a pig pix is not on; yet, the world of pigs is tight; Kartik and Ajoba offered to take Piggy to LIC Colony; 'no, we have our little prides,' said Piggy; in turn, offered to click the camera and capture his large hidden family; 'soovar achcha hai; kuch bhi khata hai' said a lady living on the footpath. The evening downlight turned down, down ...split by headlamps of speeding vehicles on Link Road. They wished Happy Deepavali. Piggy was not sure if he would be around; he was not sure if others like owls and dogs would be there. Walking back Kartik unwound the camera: bulky Piggy with the right foreleg up, between before and after a story.   

Piggy

'Wodehouse wrote a
a pig, Empress of Blandings,
into a hero..
none else..
Mostly,
in fury,
you,
make us curry,
without a sorry..'
whistled the pink and white pig behind a fence on Link Road to Kartik and Ajoba on an evening with the sun on a downturn. He stood under a peepal inside October leaf droppings. He snorted a Hai, twiddled a short curve of a tail, and Ajoba thought laughed as Kartik took a video. He posed and Ajoba styled him Piggy; 'what a name,' thought Piggy but went along. When the three took a selfie, Piggy took the entire camera. 'No Satyajit Ray has clicked me. Thank you, Kartik. You are the first director, maybe the last, as the word is I am up for Sunday lunch,' said Piggy. Kartik beamed at somebody calling him a director and thought of taking him along to MAMI Film Festival or pack him in plastic as hand baggage; would make interesting company; if MAMI films turn boring, as they mostly do; Kartik could pass time feeding Lays to Piggy. For the moment, Piggy wanted to see his parents located in the bushes of LIC Colony; it seems they had placed on earth a new breed with one of them a turn witty; to escape stray dogs, the little fellow ran across the road, between the legs of an old man on a stick; old man fell, cursed: 'soovar ka baccha'; the little fellow speeded, braked a speeding scooter with the contents hitting the road; he squeaked and left; parents are searching and Piggy wants to help; they have filed a missing complaint at the police station; but the police said they could not do much without a pix and a pig pix is not on; yet, the world of pigs is tight; Kartik and Ajoba offered to take Piggy to LIC Colony; 'no, we have our little prides,' said Piggy; in turn, offered to click the camera and capture his large hidden family; 'soovar achcha hai; kuch bhi khata hai' said a lady living on the footpath. The evening downlight turned down, down ...split by headlamps of speeding vehicles on Link Road. They wished Happy Deepavali. Piggy was not sure if he would be around; he was not sure if others like owls and dogs would be there. Walking back Kartik unwound the camera: bulky Piggy with the right foreleg up, between before and after a story.   

A Song 101

October notes:
a beaming, blue morning glory,
from below plastic waste;
a hoopoe flies over
Assissi grounds,
lands on a wall,
watching football,
before filing media reports;
fantail chips
on Ayappa Marg;
a red star glory
on the fence;
an ashy grey warbler
looks around
from a leaf-crowded bush;
no takers;
speeding walkers
on Enfields and Mercs,
spit,
scream. 

Portia trees

Aji did not like the walk suggestion to St. Francis d'Assissi play ground to watch Shreya football practice. Ajoba toffeed the idea with a auto ride to the ground for a walk. Aji was not for it but went along; both took an auto dropped off at IC Church and stepped on dewed grass, football spikes and boot studs, yesterday's marks of a football game.  Aji thought of smiling and then smiled: 'Lets walk'. Ajoba was waiting for the walk. Shreya did not turn up; nor her friends; nor her coach; the ground in quiet they walked; the teak plants, which Ajoba last year felt and appreciated, today hovered over him to look up and hug. After a round, Aji rested as Ajoba turned for a second round. Old mates said Hullos with some inquiring of health as Ajoba was last spotted before the monsoons. Today, a quiet home as Aji and Ajoba sat, looked around; mornings were not for words. A few school kids in colours were practicing trick moves with a soft football, but not playing a full match; free kicks, back flips ... their parents were not there to cheer; well Ajoba was the spectator still dreaming of a day when India will win an Olympic Gold or World Cup. He was on the look out for Portia trees; he had seen them in IC Colony. Thespesia populnea (Paras bhendi in Marathi); seems to be an Indian, says Wikipedia. On morning walks has counted two Portia trees on Link Road and IC Colony and they still are uncut. Will they be around as Link Road is being dug up by a metro project -- some say a monorail. Link Road will then not be in five or 10 years. Yet the Portia trees bug Ajoba; maybe because of a re-reading of One Part Woman by Perumal Murugan. Pulled out a copy from his pant pocket and walked the first four pages on Portia trees. 'The portia tree was dense with foliage. If you looked closely, you could see the yellow trumpet-like flowers with their flared mouths, and then drooping, fading red ones with their inviting smiles. Portia flowers always grow more beautiful as they fade.......For instance, he could now see that they had trimmed a branch that had outgrown the yard and started reaching into the house. It looked like a deformed body part. They must have done it to get some sun to dry something. But he stood looking at the tree's wound for a while....'  And then Aji was on those lines when two hands snatched them from Perumal and portia trees. Shreya in football attire with friends troubling a football and football coach .....

A Song 100

At the window,
mangroves
in sun-taped fog,
tagged an old man
welled in an arm-chair
with a walking stick;
stepped out of the window,
over hills,
with scribbles in jibba pockets
for Kabir, Tuka and Kolatkar
approvals;
mid-walk,
winds snapped,
to windlands
scribbles flew,
old man pushed out of
geography, history ....
a loafer beyond skies
having tea with.....
someone, something .....
none knows. 

A Song 99

Walked into a
ISO certified temple.
Certified priests,
blessed.
Certified safe. 

A Song 98

Chaurasia
a fragrance of varnish,
walked in
for facials to
Aji, Ajoba armchairs,
double doors;
an absent face in
a pant and a shirt
stained Asian Paint colours;
Chaurasia
scraped and scraped and scraped,
varnished, varnished, varnished
with cloth balls;
a pleasant rub of five fingers
up and down,
in style,
at ease;
not a drip on the floor.
Chaurasia stammered,
Ajoba half-heard,
in winsome smiles
Aji took down
their question, answer session;
Chaurasia lives alone
in a khatiya in Rawalpada slums;
wife,
a four-year old daughter
in a Gorakhpur village;
'bahut yaad atha hai,'
he titters.
Earns Rs.800 per day
if on contract.
Two days,
Chaurasia left
home,
an unsigned,
art piece.   

A Song 97

Loss of an absence
absence of a loss...
malls, food sites
hawk
fresh stocks
of Deepavali ferral...
chakli,
chewda,
sankarpali,
laddoo,
karanji,
sev,
Sivakasi crackers;
for pelf, profit;
dreams out of stock;
no buyers, say they;
hence, no sellers;
poets shifty,
alter scales,
staring at night skies;
crowds at airport
with foreign
passports,
Deepavali feral,
in transit
to foreign certainties;
dumping Ajis and Ajobas,
Kabir and Tuka,
Meera and Janabhai.
in retirement homes ...
Loss of an absence
absence of a loss....

A Song 96

On Twitter..

A dead man
desires a selfie
with Yama.

Earth

With Chiyu, Shreya and Funskool clay on an evening turning flowers at homes. When they were tots in Dahisar, Chiyu mixed water with street dust while Shreya cooked the watery paste playing ghar-ghar; Ajoba and Aji collected small stones for vegetables; upset with fooling her grandkids, Aji once made bhel for them, fed them as they messed tiny fingers. Down the street came Dakhi, early from office, bristled at her kids in mud; upturned Aji, Ajoba had disappeared from the scene. And this evening Chiyu and Shreya turned clean pressing plastic clay; no mud on them; as if they had not played with earth; they washed their hands with soap after massaging plastic clay. Will, one day, fifty years hence, there be earth and children and grandmas and grandpas; maybe robots will do what children do today... do not know when Chiyu picked Ajoba out of his thoughts ......  'abhi Deepavali chutti ayega, maja karenge' they chirped together; and then Aji told them of Dombivili times when Deepavali meant making mud killas ... surprising in the delicious Marathi film Killa, there is no killa manufacturing by kids. Led by Vidya; 1980s at Anand Arunoday Co-op. Housing Society... Vidya, Dakhi, Ganesh, Sachin, Rani, Swapnil, Satej and more kids existed in mud, rolled in mud, became mud .... no plastic clay, earth dear, soft earth, brown with grass and pebbles... Vidya would assign jobs and at a corner of the garden they would pile up mud with plastic mugs of water .... together they mixed themselves into all of the clay and Aji could not identify them... it took days for the killa to be made as it was broken down many times by erupting quarrels ... by the next morning they would all gather for killa ... the killa was named Killa .... designed by grass, sand, dry leaves and other waste products ... yes, those times they were free and there was not plastic clay or if it was, there was no purse ... the killa had diyas, a moat with water and paper boats and a few ants reminding Ajoba of Swami and Malgudi days .... then schools opened ....Aji finished with the Killa telling... Shreya and Chiyu have decided on a plastic clay killa as Dakhi from the kitchen bawled against making a furnished home earth dirty ...'kachada nako' .... Wish schools could think of a Killa game with mud for Deepavali 2016.... 

A Song 95

a zendu tweet...

we,
lemon yellow,
saffron,
pretty,
plucked,
priced,
by women,
for
homes,
gods
on Dassera.

Dassera din

gods,
goddesses,
humans,
an imagination of blood
in a geography of heavens,
peace in ICUs,
brain dead....
'nothing to worry,
patient will be shortly shifted to
general ward,' say doctors......

A fast goes viral. Under a banyan hacked of nests and birds, leaves and roots,  an old man going by the name of Gandhi, sat on bare earth, bald head down over a charkha; the still centre and bald head timed the going round and round of the charkha; hippi moments, hippi times in Vaikunt; Gandhi was on a peace protest protesting Durga intention to perform the killing of Mahishasura on Dassera; 'every Dussera you come Lady and every Dussera has a Mahishasura; why not have peace chats in some neutral Heaven,' mumbled a broken-tongued Gandhi glued to an Camusian uncertainty, hippi camraderie; too many fasts had gone waste; and Gandhi was yet again unsure with Durga serious about the killing; but even gods could not broom Gandhi; so they opened peace talks; 'Dassera is a holy day; you gods who write our fates can sure edit a change for a handshake, a sharing of rossagullas; Satyajit Ray thought it in Goopy Gayen, Bagha Bayen; he ensured peace with rosogullas falling from blue skies; a camera shot capturing rosogullas....achcha laga'; Goopy Gayen was the only film Gandhi went to Lighthouse in Calcutta to watch with tickets bought by industrialist friends. Across sat Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva with Ram acting the concierge; the talks spun without an axis; in Vaikuntam everything is possible including a Gandhi fast, Gandhi on a charkha. Add a few or minus a few adjectives and prayers, but Rama turned spongy with his old devotee; perhaps, Rama loved Gandhi more than Sita; 'we gods are fated and wars are etched; Durga has to go; a resting Durga may not be better than a warring Lady,' Ram said in private. Then came the peace offer. 'We will not kill if Mahishasura eats Durga prasad,' Rama downed the proposal on the floor; Mahishasura was not for prasad; he wanted a muddy pond and grass to wade in quiet; thats what Mahish or buffalos yearn for. Crows silent. Flowers off stems. Clouds dropped skies; a Tadoba forest stillness. Gandhi and gods went to war; Gandhi refused war; intoned Ram, Ram; Durga was getting late for Dassera; Ram fixed flowers and fruits to arrow tips, shot; some hit the khadi charka, some off target; a chuckling Gandhi with Sita, backing the old man, said: Your husband arrows like the Indian archery team at Rio Olympics'; Sita clapped and clapped; only Gandhi could size down Ram. Gandhi's head rested on the unbroken charkha when public Twittered: Ram does away with Gandhi; Gandhi alive, being tended to by Sita; fasting Gandhi down with peace dengu. A Human Rights team missed Gandhi; Kasturba with plates of dhokla spotted Gandhi rolling the charkha, inducting Sita into khadi with thready laughs. Twitterati in gluey glee: Magsasay for Durga; Nobel for Ram. Ba offered Gandhi bangles; old man wore it; presented a khadi garland to Ba ... distributed dhokla to Durga and Ram and Mahishasura ... in and off Heavens, sounds of war on peace were on....Dassera din ......

Ladies football

G-O-A-L. Funning morning. Lush St. Francis ground adjacent to IC Church breathed a Hallelujah. Wonder whether St. Francis ever kicked a ball for a ping of joy. A Ryan International forward steered the football and defenders of Rustomjee to the right corner flag, crossed the ball to her unmarked No.11 jersey at the top of the box. She tapped in for a second goal. A Zidane would have applauded. Ryan International beat Rustomjee 2-0 in a 30 minute football game of Ladies in the morning; a goal in each half. Four defenders of Ryan relaxed through the match as their foward line pushed back Rutomjee; Ajoba's Shreya in the forward line and the middle line of Rustom found it hard to hold Ryan as coaches, parents yelled out instructions; in typical IC lingo coaches bawled: Yes-No; gadha move man, kick forward; Ajoba stood in the grass watched, intently, quietly as if a World Cup was on. The 11 a side ladies teams brought cheers to old Ajoba as he had not seen a live match on live greens for well .... years. Was tipped off by Dakhi in the morning about the football game; laced the trekking shoes, walked to the ground by 8 as the match was scheduled for 8.30; teak trees had grown sturdier, dew-beaded grass cooled the knees ... at one busy corner a four a side kids game to start; one team was short of a goal-keeper; the kids pleaded with Ajoba to be a stand-in goalie and Ajoba thought he was Thangaraj at goal of East Bengal in the 1960s. Let in two goals; Ajoba had never won a match; kids crackled as Ajoba slipped in the slush. Came the big moment; 9 a.m.; Ryan against Rustomjee; warming up Rustomjee girls were a tad scared of Ryan girls; 'bahut accha khelte hain'; the Rustomjee coach who had played for Ryan at the same ground when in school did not like it; 'play-no; yes-no', he said; the refree whistled, linesmen took their places for the game; in the 11 th minute of the first half Shreya crumbled, breathless; got up to goading of coach from the sidelines. Match over, girls became friends. Coaches patted all. 'Well played' they said with many yeses-nos. A team mate told Shreya: Eat well. A Ladies football game left smiles on the gushing grass. They were there when all walked away.

A Song 94

Fixing the world
in a raindrop
tipping a hibiscus.  

White Paper

Blessed. Nedumudi Venu in Malayalam film White Paper. In recent months, heart swells for the greens, ponds and chandana kuris offered by Namboodiris at quiet temples in Kerala; it led Rama and me to a youtube.com search and a stumble on White Paper. Had not heard of it. Arranged our sofas; for about 90 minutes were lost in Nedumudi Venu, Lena and a serious Jagdeesh; Laughed with Nedumudi Venu at the Laughing Club on a green hill; Nedumudi Venu before the camera does not act; he is; and the gentleman flaps in old Malayali graces lost in the malls, mobiles and internets of Cochin and Thiruananthapuram. White Paper deals with the parental ambitions of modern times to tomb their children; school, classes, studies ... a dengue biting all... and Nedumudi Venu salving the hurts of children ... at his village home a tad like Rama's Sreevatsam in Alapuzzha... in the mittam (foreyard), playing olapandu (bamboo ball) with grand-daughter, grandson, daughter-in-law Lena; we funned; wished could throwball an olapandu with Shreya and Chiyu ... White Paper is for modern times.... do we have to monkey our children? There may not be sure answers... the hunch stands watching Neel Battey Sannata of Ashwini Iyer Tiwari; a maid and a school drop out Swara Bhaskar has a dream for her daughter Apeksha; Apeksha says: a maid's daughter can only be a maid; not a doctor..'aukat nahin hai; but Swara Bhaskar thinks otherwise and Apeksha sews her dream ... the poor to get out of poverty have to snitch dreams from middle class homes... debates and arguments can wait .... Hopped on two Tamil films handling the agony of children and teachers ... Kutram Kadithal and Appa .... in Kutram Kadithal, a school teacher slaps a child and is in guilt while in Appa a school boy is done in by his father ... a relief from Rajanikanth and Vijay inanities ... finally wound down to Prakash Raj funner, Abhium nannum....a noon film is a must for Rama and me and there are many delights untalked and unwritten .... 

House sparrows

Living in a one BHK, old man and his old woman are sometimes guests to calls of koyals and parakeets in summer; and is not the same as watching them at the window sill; they have unwound the wall clock; the HMT manual wrist watches of both find a place in a Godrej locker; bird calls rhyme their lives; koyals, parakeets, crows ...; Ajoba wants to be with them; Aji a no-no; Aji and Madhavi like the window sill clean and neat; pigeons are not being entertained, firmly. A few months now; Ajoba in his wooden cot near the window is woken up by a chirp; tired bones do not stir; a second cheep ... not sure if it is the same sparrow... pulls out Ajoba from his bed.... to Marie biscuits served in a stainless plate on the window sill .... the sparrows land up as Ajoba watches from his bed .... putting on wait the morning and the coffee of Aji. 'I want one or many of them to park on me one morning; waltz on me,' Ajoba tells a wispy Aji; comes back Aji: 'Pagal.' Some mornings crows land up, scaring sparrows, caw...caw.. 'my ancestors', remarks Ajoba and Aji nods in belief. Into their coffees, Ajoba pauses over a few lines of poetry ... and this morning is into The Best of Gerald Durrell, chosen by Lee Durrell. A take from The Amateur Naturalist: ...I was two years old. I went for a walk along a mountain road in India accompanied by my ayah....made my way to a ditch nearby where I discovered to my delight, two huge khaki-coloured slugs brought out by the rain. They were slowly wending their way along the ditch, leaving glittering trails of slime behind them ....I have had great fun being introduced to and playing with a duck-billed platypus that looked like Donald Duck in a fur coat, but at the same time I get enormous pleasure by simply looking out of my kitchen window and watching the sparrow bustling about in the hedge beneath.' Sparrows are not any more common sparrows in Mumbai and Indian cities. Ajoba sets out for his walk with chana in his pockets to feed squirrels speeding up trees and down roads. He had picked up the book on September 29, 2000 at lovely Landmark in Chennai with best friend Muthuswamy Padmanabhan; Landmark is no more; they went for a beach walk and lunch at Woodlands. Like sparrows, Padmanabhan is scarce ...maybe migrated with his computer son to US..