A Song 240

Deep in charpoys
under Karuna banyan,
buzzed by still May air,
steep noon calls of koels,
Old Man,
no fingerprints
on Facebook,
Lady, no mobiles,
watching
a leafy sky
boated to sleep. 

A Song 239

Brownie Bear
at home via amazon.
Gift from Vidya to Rama,
taped in love.
Brownie and Rama
dwell well, 
pat, feed, chat each other 
in spells.
Swapping places,
Rama suggested;
Brownie upset.

River prayer

'In my village, trees give shade and we take the heat sitting or lying down on a charpoi under them. In this shahar, towers provide shade and there is no space for a charpoy,' mused the temple priest with a wan smile to no one in particular. Ajoba overheard it. The priest should have been a journalist or maybe will, if there is rebirth. In a white dhoti worn the traditional way, a white jibba, a suggestion of a tikka on his forehead, name and village unknown, he soft tunes to the gods and air around, Hanuman Chalisa and a whiff of faith seeps into Ajoba. The Shiva temple is Ajoba new walking corner, bounded by housing societies with a few trees on the borders; a Laburnum is celebrating the summer, copper pods kolam the earth with yellow flowers oozing a fragrance; yes, Ajoba thought, a yellowness all round with peepals and banyans plus a tulsi adding to the company. Resting in a plastic arm chair, as Rama is into Hanuman Chalisa, Ajoba thrills to the sight of a fantail flycatcher with its up and down notes. Early mornings, there are few for blessings of Lord Shiva or is it the other way round. Will Ajoba set out on a vana prastham? At 70 its time going by many ancient rulings. Has no guts. By the way, where are the forests and the few protected forests are zoos going by the logic of that fine man and friend, Varad Giri. If Borivili National Park is turning into a municipal park and Tadoba into a zoo, where is vana prastham? In Sunday Mumbai Mirror, Bikram Grewal writes of Billy Arjun Singh and creation of the Dudhwa National Park. Ajoba has met Billy Arjun Singh at a Sanctuary awards function and his words still thud in pain: Sometime in the future, when you stand on mountains in the north, will be able to sight Kanyakumari and the seas beyond. Yes, nothing in between: No Ganga mayya, no Narmada, no Godavari, no Cauvery, no Pamba, no Brahmaputra, forests and animals. There is a prayer Ajoba likes, a prayer to rivers starting with Ganga dropping down from Lord Shiva's head, Lord Shiva the first green; for washing away one's sins. Prayer taken from google: Gangecha, Yamune chaiva Godavari, Saraswathi, Narmada, Sindhu, Kaveri jalesmin sannidhim kuru ( O Holy rivers Ganga, and Yamuna and also Godavari, Saraswathi, Narmada, Sindhu and Kaveri; Please be present in this water near me,and make it Holy). Perhaps, its time to scrap the river prayer. When the priest wound down the morning with the River prayer....   

A Song 238

Ahead of water wars.
Mumbaikar
will die in car wars.


.........


Bhakti poets
clean one up
for God or nothing.



.....

April
haikus 
cool.


  

Shreya, Chiyu

Four or maybe five years,
Aji and Ajoba
autoed to Dahisar;
baby sat Shreya, Chiyu.
Noons for Ludo,
snakes and ladders,
cards,
Aji Alleppey tales.
Evenings Ajoba,
Chiyu in arms,
Shreya without leash,
wading along
to Dahisar station
and vanishing humans;
tiled Vitho temple, silent;
at kirana shops
Lays for Shreya,
Balaji for Chiyu,
Gems and Amul for both
sharing quarrels;
in blind alleys
throwing dirt,
kicking a ball,
cycling with friends.
Laughs matched cries. 
Evenings,
Dakhi walked in
to baby sits
turning adult sits. 

A Song 237

April suns
reluctant to relent
scorch pebbled palms.
Lady, Old Man
below Karuna banyan
on Karuna Road,
count on frail fingers
time, leaves, cars, bikes.
Taking breaks,
Old Man pulls out letters,
broken, cracked, wounded
alphabets,
in wrinkled smiles,
from hip pockets.
Lady,
yanks out
dried, fragrant sadaphules,
from faded frock,
worn over years.
Old ghosts
unlocking cackles
peep from banyan holes.
Did they trade in letters,
flowers and ghosts?
Birds into knocking nests
for the two to drop
eggs with dreamy yolk,
ahead of rains.
Eggs have no buyers,
dreams hatched no takers.
Deva, the donkey,
parked with two umbrellas
stuck to ears,
on alert,
sheltering rains,
when and if they come. 
They were like that,
They are like that,
They will be like that,
says friend Rose, a nun
lazing on Karuna Road.

Mumbai Mirror

Maybe because me friend Tariq Engineer writes, like Mumbai Mirror. Writes all bones, no flesh, like the gentle Parsi he is. MM costs Rs. 3 when a chhota Gold Flake to go with it costs Rs.10. MM cares for Mumbai like The Statesman in Calcutta of yore in Calcutta Notebook. An old news editor said it more human interest stories. Yes, Mumbai Mirror has them. Perhaps they should have a FP cartoon and something of a daily Third Edit on FP, a 300 worder, single column. A Mario and Busybee of 2018. But Editors know better.  Today, it heads of with the news of Mumbaikars touching Alibaug by RoRo. Modern times, computer times, mobile times need RoRO. From Mumbai to Alibaug it will be about an hour. Me thought (as usual wrong) Alibaug is of the rich and they own yachts to swim across to bunglows. They sure will not take RoRo. Maybe, Tariq Engineer will take it to talk up and down a corporate on Alibaug life. A new Chinese toy as the first vessel will come from Confucius land. Realtors and corporates are developing the area (get a stroke every time me bumps into development). Has Mumbaikar, at best a torn, dated newspaper, a chance? From a daily local, crushed to a RoRo to Alibaug sandwiched in plastic. And long times ago they took the sea in dug outs if one goes by J.C. Daniel on Salim Ali in Salim Ali's India. He writes: 'I watched the heaving monsoon seas with a sinking heart. Being tossed about in a narrow dug out canoe was not something I'd bargained for when I joined the Bombay Natural History Society a few months earlier. As one of my legs began to twitch uncontrollably, the tiny bearded man sitting next to me asked, "Can you swim, Daniel?" 'Swim? Y-yes,' I stammered, wondering wildly if Salim Ali, the legendary honorary secretary of the BNHS, was about to give the order to abandon ship. Instead, Salim Ali looked at me for a moment and said quietly, 'I can't.'