untitled 26

his is the alley.
no bark, no bite, no bile.
rains do not wet him;
afraid of cats.
walks chiyu to the school bus
stand,
awaits her in the evening.
in an order of affection
didi follows chiyu.
married early.
didi expected a pinch of dislike
to go with parts of love
as scissors and stitches on fresh
cloth at the tailor's.
didi became an attender at the clinic
to appease her man;
she is there, he has gone.
a coat of light brown and white,
a white namam on the forehead
suggests Rik was a brahmin in
a previous birth;
or be born a brahmin, next birth.
men with instant judgements,
undo earnings of  working women;
a mother and two kids were ticked off
after her man, rode into a truck, drunk.
before the alley became home
Rik  was different.

was

untitled 25

he died early morning.
speeding cars, disowning traffic signals,
braked,
as the dead man rode to the
crematorium
on the shoulders of friends.  

untitled 24

Warrier set up the first pathology lab
in verur village;
for unfamiliar clients an excitement.
the damp, dark clinic,
veiled by trees and shrubs,
tasted of kashayams and arishtams.
on the wooden table lay
a stethoscope,
a thermometer,
some ayurveda books
in malayalam for warrier to
double-check on intution.
a faint bulb blinked from the tiled roof
mornings and evenings;
afternoons, warrier rested.
grandpa was the lab's first client.
early morning,
he packed slabs of stool
in banana leaves;
wrapped a kerosene bottle of urine
in an old newspaper;
placed them on warrier's table.
presuming a breakfast
of puttu and kadalai with coffee
warrier opened the contents.
warrier,
waiting patients,
the clinic,
the lab,
deserted verur,
failing to catch the humour.
a malayalam paper reported
the event.
today the clinic is verur's best.
on its wall hangs a framed copy
of the report.    

untitled 23

chiyu prefers her ally to school.
the alley, with a well at one end,
is all for her resident.
many cats, a dog, pigeons, hens,
house sparrows,
broken stones,
a bhendi, a coconut, two laburnums
comprise Chiyu's graffiti.
grandma hovers around for a
quick cuddle.
climbs into the school bus,
takes the corner seat;
school ...  college .... a lady .....
engaging a society dissolving
women in doubt.   

untitled 22

stepping down frisky clouds,
cloaked in beard and bareness,
Vyasa and Valmiki were on time
at Trends --- a bookstore ---
detailing Bhoomi ---
a poetic wandering, jointly authored.
unable to place them, unsure of sales,
the owner of Trends was polite --
offered them tea and brun pav,
promised to scan a free copy.
impatient over the storyline,
rushed in time for rhyme,
short of an audience,
they walked the Marine Drive into
a monsoon;
posted Bhoomi on their website.
wrote when thought of humans,
unowned by gods,
trembled them;
paused when the tremours passed.
Mao sat with Gandhi;
Einstein with Hermann Hesse;
debated solutions with gods out of station.
in the stands,
public and critics,
yearned for rains in May;
moons in July;
craved for bunglows in the sea;
Ferraris in the balconies;
blue skies for courtyards.
TV crews screamed the disjunct.
Chandra's black holes lunched on
disappointments;
Hawking's absurd particles salted
grace of the priest;
daring the poison brewers,
sipping poison,
Siva became Nilkant of the forests,
mountains, rivers, burning ghats paved
with skulls;
a bird,
while Socrates collapsed.
Siva and Socrates designed a rainbow
nailed to the skies for humans to joyride.
usurpers of the law secured boys in Godrej vaults,
girls in deep wells,
for generations to live unwell.
men and women,
animals and trees,
turned potter's wheels,
spinning fresh earth,
to a contrapuntal hum,
to Malkauns's thrum ---
for the perfect pot
designed with fatelines. 
some gave up, tired;
the wheel came off, for others;
a few dropped it, broke it;
a thin crowd persisted with
imperfect pots,
for Shiva to store the poison,
be free; 
returning a kindness.

untitled 21

kaka, the milkman, left
without informing;
chacha, the baker, went
without a bye;
payal,watered gardens,
swept clean housing societies,
has gone;
dearest grandma lighted a diya,
stepped aside with none beside;
walking the Maidan, my friend,
turned to his school,
enquired of class teacher Dubey.
"gone," said a careless tone;
went to College for Fr. Turmes.
the principal stared like the dead,
said Fr. Turmes was dead.
lovable fixtures over years,
parts of a long ago.  

untitled 20

perhaps,
earth is a gifted woman,
the most.
raindrops,
whiff of wetness,
mangy clouds racing ahead of
winds in a chor-police chase,
she offers.
aged legs reluctant,
inside a garden chair
under a shedding gul mohur,
chintamani smokes
warming a chilled soul.