cormorants, egrets, flying fox crown
the coconut.
a spread of newspapers,
laid out by sachin, at its base.
no newsreader; a scanner of film releases
on friday.
he goes to bed with films.
her village pond, trees and birds unspool
when shantha, the flower vendor, sleeps.
saket, the tea fellow, meets up corporates midnight.
over a tea break, they meet, uncertain of the day.
one show a month at inorbit is sachin's desire.
a trip home forever, consumes shantha.
my tea stall will become a 5-star hotel, claims saket.
six years over. 

dawn sleep.
afternoo seistas.
earthy fiestas.



.......

on the way to the temple.
an elephant, chained to a banyan
on a patch of grass and earth.
the lady, unstill as ever, over a primeval hurt.
unkempt, alone, scraping her sides with
a banyan twig held in her trunk,
sways to an inherited beat.
on the pavement, under a blue plastic sheet,
a couple, many days and nights old,
sip tea from the same plastic cup.
cars in tinted glasses swim by.
raindrops brush the bare air.
he pauses, some distance from faith.


.........


raindrops roll off mango, jackfruit, jamun trees
to a patch of tarred road.
five feet from the road, he stood.
a cattle egret stepped around daintily.
a line of poetry,
disappeared after two mornings.

a rainy morning.
an empty church
soft weaving silence.



........

swathed in tinted glass,
a citified soul relaxes
with a mobile on a drive.  

in 40 years
never managed a window seat
facing the wind in a local.
at office missed a window desk.
brushed up wordage on night shifts,
signed off editions,
scoops, bylines never his.
retired.
is at the Press Club corner, on a day grained with rain drops.
orders four rums -- one each for Joe, John and Jim --
for memories gone.
after the last dark hour,
the last friend,
the last rum from Mohammad,
stretches on the floor,
to the distant hum of the Sea and the Drive.
the Club is his, he of the Club.
an yellowed newsitem.

16 years on.
the lady has been regular with steady state Shiva;
sometimes an old gentleman.
started, stiff and straight;
a walking stick,
a waist belt holding the back;
an uncertain stammer of feet;
fumbles to Shiva, waits for her old man.
a stuttering torso down the gravel path,
a beard seeking directions from the wind,
eyes scanning the skies, coat pockets bulging with
yesterdays.
they shared benches at school, college, canteens;
drifted.
share a cement bench under a rain tree,
biting into vada pav, sipping tea.
fluttering prayer flags.

suggesting stillness,
a palm-sized snail ekes out
of a cleft in a gulmohar.
wet in the july rains
withdraws from nosy
greynecks, warblers, sparrows.