not being of the same warp and weft
a murukkan-stained smile queried
from under a jackfruit tree:
"ishtapetto (like it)?"
"o (yes)", said my friend,
managing a stumble on a crooked, mud track.
84, in a white mundu, blouse,
a thorthu fronting ample breasts,
madhavi kutty pickets memories.
claims she:
the jackfruit is my age,
leftover from a crowd axed for seeding rubber.
a yakshi has her home guessing times.
a lingering clasp of lips behind the jackfruit,
her loving chettan,
tickles her to a chuckle.
prescribed a distance by karanavars
(it has shrunk, yet remains),
working in ricefields,
a cup of kanji someday,
a saucer the next,
but never together.
the track was a water-way,
the fields bore rice and tapioca,
there was day,
there was night,
there were laughs,
there were tears.
sloughing customs, flaunted a red flag.
hammer and sickle lie rusted.
emotions crusted.
a tin trunk,
loose change,
bits of bell metal,
kept her two daughters unwed;
caring madhavi they age.
lights the dawn with oil wicks in the
prayer room,
brooms the front yard,
eases with a cup of tea and mathrubhoomi.
now,
lost between acres of rubber
miles of jewellery billboards,
she is in an acceptance,
as a cool breeze curls up on the crown of
the jackfruit,
a piece of blue sky for a pillow.

on my piece of earth
temples are girdled with strays,
priests, pilgrims.
every rag picker pets a stray.
generations of strays, beliefs, believers ---
on a rotation, coming and going, ---
leave neither bark or bite.

on my piece of earth
nowhere to hide kills
(oh, nothing left to kill),
no arguments over graves
no discussions over pyres,
in corners,
strays nibble at teaspoons of grass.

on my piece of earth
sun, moon, stars nap in turns
as cars honk for right of way
running over strays.

on my piece of earth
fresh as a new sari,
revathi ambles to the temple praying,
smiling over fun  nights,
frowning over lunch menus for grandkids.
rarely misses the routine,
devotees search and sight her,
srays with bylines track her.

on my piece of earth
occasional notes of forest foot beats,
ancient drumbeats,
tender heart beats,
strays upbeat.


.......

since short trouser years
he knows each dash of grass,
dot of dust in the playground;
high-kicked footballs, lost them.
dropped from the game, old and unsteady,
watches kids scoring goals.



...........


makar sankranti.
til gud crowds shops;
jaggery hems talk;
a blue sky offers kite rides
for shreya and chiyu.
grandma, grandpa never flew kites.

silent playground.
comimgs and goings of children.
salt and sugar laughter.

..............


every third day
grandpa is at the cycle repair shop.
shreya and chiyu fly mended cycles.
grandpa never cycled.


...........

warm december in mumbai.
dawning orange, new year stumbles
on a drunk moon.
koyals chuckle over a woman violated.
cheques signed, cash in bank, wait.
never in him to snip hibiscus for gods.
some regrets making it from
calcutta to kolkata; bombay to mumbai.
a nameplate alteration.
an ancientness damps the air.
january is cold.
hunched around wood fires at street corners
poor shuffle sipping steaming tea.

a dethreaded brahmin haunts
temple, church,dargah beside roads.
candles the wintry morning,
offers a chaddar at the dargah,
a coconut to ganesa.
the effort fatigues, forgets the favours.

cars in dew.
a butterfly still on a lance of grass
waiting for a delayed sun.
kids joyously shuttle footballs.
a lighted, red cross impaled in mist.
its a city winter.  

strays are statistical improbabilities in 

ramanujan's intution.

never crow-clever, no pretensions.

stretched out, curled up, in drowsy thought

on link road.

on cold midnights howl.

chase speeding cars.

wiggle as the aged couple loaded with

milk packets, biscuits, aluminium bowls

set up breakfast on pavements.

pronouns do not embellish them 

--- one blind in the left eye, 

a second in the right eye;

--- a left ear up,

a right ear down;

--- a fellow lame in one leg;

--- some tail-less;

--- most brown with whites at odd locations;

--- two all black.

sometimes group at gossip bar over rums

and whiskies chatting cricket and gods;

the lady foots the bill, staggers out on fours;

they follow on twos;

never visit a saloon for a trim;

avoid vets for the lady claims,"they are fit."

pets in collars, on long leashes, stroll by.

complaints pile up.

an hour before the dog van, 

Link Road is clean with cars, pets, the lady.