untitled 49

after the night-beat under
falling temperatures,
Prem owns the first sun, washing cars;
soothes the air with villageways;
blushes,
seeing my friend inked in 70 years of cityways. 

untitled 48

trudging to the construction site with
children neatly packed in dust and nudity,
the lady wrapped the morning
in a hum.
digging, filling, relaying earth
part-fills a hunger,
my friend feels awaiting a delayed lunch.

untitled 48

in the temple town,
god, behind a latticed window,
can be guessed at in the darkness
of oil lamps,
glimpsed in parts.
tukkaram pujari prays against normal
disappointments,
sure of a sympathetic hearing.
spent 25 years in Surat
--- shivered through a plague,
a mass slaughter.

untitled 47

dwelling in the dilapidated hush
of a temple-town,
gods and tukkaram pujari
share a table at krishna cafe,
sipping the first, filter coffee at 7 a.m.;
await masala dosa scheduled for 9 a.m.;
pujari, a driver,
bows at the steering wheel before keying the engine of
maruti 400;
wife waits, on empty cylinders,
for pujari in the evening.
whiles away empty hours counting ---
waves on the green arabian sea;
footprints of shells;
sholas on horse-faced forests;
tea leaves, coffee beans on hill slopes;
trains crawling past the empty railway station;
untimely chimes of a sneezing grand-mother clock
strung from the sky.
 

untitled 46

at loutolim, in pascal's village sky-bar
on evenings,
sit on wooden benches
with rum, paul and pascal;
an infrequent customer,
neatly combed,
freshly shaved,
devoid of discontent,
in hawaiian slippers,
bermudas,
T-shirt,
cashless,
shares rummy space.
women fizz from soda bottles,
chuckles stir rums;
last rounds are refills.
souls at placid pace.

written on the death of mario miranda on Dec. 11, 2011 (Sunday).
at loutolim, goa..

untitled 45

mother thought he was in college
when he was quarter-way to school;
his son joined him after years in class 1.
jobbed as a temple cook;
cut deals with temple priest to tend family;
a world celebrity ---
15 sq. km. of verur village
--- on avial, dal vada, boli.
chewing rolls of black tobacco shut him up;
sometimes spotted alone
on a rock in verur river.
indiscretions were scarce for the brahmin
distanced from brahman.
the 12th man. 

untitled 44

teaching malayalam to 5-year olds,
left palms of hours for Hari saar to tend
the unwalled padam;
for every peepal, banyan, tamarind, jackfruit,
bananas,
there were three cocounut palms;
carved deep moats at their feet,
filled them with well water.
browned coconut leaves made
the roof of his mud house.
when he took the morning dip in the
temple pond,
mothers yoked their kids to chalk and slates.
between class 1 and home,
spent 40 years.