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on a sunday morning,
Vitthala,
Rakkumai,
Tuka,
were into kanta pohe
from Bendres
under a banyan tree.
sipping tea from plastic cups,
thanked Omkar the priest
running debt at Bendres
when devotees with prasad
were rare.
in then times,
devotees were walkers;
some came with human ire,
others with heavenly fears;
imprisoned by Fate,
not scripters,
gods faltered.
the ambience was elder to the wooden
temple on lease to
Vithala,
Rakkumai,
Tuka,
in black stone.
garish billboards of Hindi films,
filmstars stared them down.
pilgrims after prayers
relaxed at theatres.
now under blue plastic sheets,
the lease over,
Vithala,
Rakkumai,
Tuka,
will be in white marble,
an alteration unexpected.
CCTVs will secure the temple,
devotees will email gods,
donate by credit-debit cards,
i-pod mantras.
wiping tears of
Vithala,
Rakkumai,
Tuka strummed a Rama-Krishna-Hari
on the tampoora with broken strings.
protested Rakkumai: 
Tuka, when will you sing of me?