My Grandmother's Dirty Fingers

She saw through her wrinkled eyes
Clear, steady gaze of the sun upon her
And writhed in pain as she moved
To weep silently over the betrayal
He had woken up earlier than her
All these years, her many years
He had only woken up to her prayers

Woke up to her prayers and blessed
Her with a husband and a home
Many daughters and a bright son
All married now, with children
Away and loving, her husband now
Healthy with just a poor liver
Weak eyesight and good gossip

He woke up very early now, earlier
Than my grandmother or the sun
Glancing at her face in early rays
No wrinkles or grey still visible
He grabbed me sleeping there
“Awake. Ask her a cup of coffee”

I pulled the blanket close to me
But she awoke, pressing closer
Her warmth, comforting in dew
Lie on me, she said, and I did
Heavier on her, than her many years
Lying inert on her fragile frame,
He kept tickling me in the bone

He coughed, still she did not rise
Several years, she prayed to him
Repeating penance, year after year
To gain him always, birth after birth
But she was no boon, he thought
All boons become curse in time

But he mellowed not with time
They were right, her parents
A husband is a husband, they said
Be he a stone or grass, not grass
She thought, she married a stone
All these years with him, she sighed
He felt not any less stony now

He slowly put his weak foot down
And sat, dark profile visible in dawn
He stumbled, still she did not stir
He stood still, speaking to me
I shall prepare it myself, he said
But your grandmother’s dirty finger
Has for long it very own taste
Unsurpassed, unsurpassable

Something jerked my grandmother up
Propelling her fast into kitchen

(1999)

Bride Seeing

We sat under the darkening sky,
My mother, father and I
Ancient moon, youth to brim
My young mother, all wrinkled

Why are you so worried, I asked
I have a dear son unloving
Unlistening and Uncaring
Unwilling and incorrigible

I am so very tired of washing,
Shirts, pants and banians,
Yours, your brother’s, your fathers’
And my own discoloured nine yards

My hands are not stiff now
To hold both the knife and vegetable
My food is either too sweet or salty
Your tongue can only complain

What is there to sweep and clean
You don’t mess like those days of old
I miss those days and would like again
To clean baby mess all over the place

Mother, I said, I can’t marry
With this salary, too little, too late
‘Tis not enough for three of us
And it is not just one more

You may not like it, she said
But you have ketu in seventh
Many horoscopes don’t match
But here is the one that does

We went bride seeing,
Father, mother and I
Were received at the gate
By prospective father in law

My girl can paint and sing
Can dance and embroider
Can drive and garden
What is it that she cant?

She came in, girl of my dreams
All decked in gold, hardly visible
And sat demurely, not looking
But I couldn’t take off my gaze

They all went away,
My mother, my father
Her father, her mother
To see the terrace,
Architecture, ripe mangoes
And family tree

We were left alone
Shy of each other
Atlast she looked up
And whispered ‘Ram’

I was aghast, in acute discomfort
This girl will not suit me at all
Which girl calls her Lord by name
In this holy land of Savitri?

Let us discuss, Ram
Our common future
What we shall do
Where we shall live

I shall keep the home clean
And also earn, if you like
No, I shall not neglect you ever
Admist baby mess and baby noise

Ma’am, this is not what I want
Can you cook at all?
Yes, Ram, Yes, glad you asked
I like to cook as hobby

Ma’am, then we should part
We are so incompatible
I don’t feel hungry as hobby
Though you may cook so!

(1995)

Paper Roses

Don’t ever compare girls with roses
Only we men ever wait for them
Like roses to be picked and adorned
Throbbing with life, love and color
But we men too fade like roses
Hence, they choose paper roses
Ever unwithering on their greying hair

(1997)

Borrowing With Dignity

I have borrowed loans,
In all seasons
Summer and Winter
Spring and Autumn

I borrowed in hundreds
And everyday faced
Angry pounds on my door
Legal notices in my posts

I thence borrowed millions
Now rich bankers line
Up silent at my door
Just to fall at my feet.

(1997)

Inter Office Memo

I am twenty seven years young and unmarried
This, ma’am, is for your information and action please!

(1999)

One Line Love Poem

you are the dot on my i

(2001)

Renunciation

It was winter night of high clouds and low moon
Of trees and tender roses, fragnant with invisible thorns
When I met her, all dark and stormy –

When will you ever reform yourself, she asked
Admist claps of thunder and roar of sea waves
Right now, I said, what do you want me to do?

Give up beedi, dirty jeans and late night beer
Blushing, fidgeting and forgetfulness
She paused, and yes, more – your beard
Your father, mother, God and tintin

She recited all these, and panted for breath
I sighed and waited for more, none to come
I can give up all these easily, I assured
You are more dear than all these.

Really!, she said, and blushed like deep roses
Her cheeks as red, her smile inviting as those petals

What else will you give up dear, she asked
For your sake and mine – sorry, for our sake?
Her eyes steady on me, her hair ruffled by wind.

“Marrying you”, I said in one final renunciation
As late night mists covered the trees
As the low moon hid behind the clouds

(1997)

First Night's First Lesson

My bare hands and ten fingers
Strictly disciplined for thirty years
Moving in fixed, boring orbits
Of food, cloth, paper and water
Why don’t you permit them now
To explore your hidden unmap
Alive, active, invisible, wrapped
For years in shame and clothes
Or, lest they should dig odd places
Like explorers of moon and artic
Show me all in a guided tour
What and Why, Where and How?

(2000)

Self Portrait

I hail from copper river’s holy banks
Many acres the river rendered fertile
Were mine, till the acres became
Necklaces, silver vessels, big houses
To dispose my aunts who were nubile
Like rice husks of my green acres
But as empty within, as they were full
With acres gone, I went to school
Half plus half was one and a half
Only because it rhymed better to my ear
I was fit for nothing except poetry
Which I saw in chappals and razors
Penned lines on love, staying single
Since dames reading my lines
Renewed their forgotten love
All planets conspiring otherwise
Too little love flowed my way –
I create my own earth and heaven
For being a Lord without any land
I am yet to find the space to be.

(1997)

When My Brother Was Made

Those nights when I thought
Moon was just a plate of curdrice
Eaten by gods night after night
Gradually replenished several nights
Those several nights
Of waxing and waning moon
I slept between my parents
As the lonely moon furrowed deep
I woke to weep, feeling around
With my hands – found neither
Several days, my aunt asked
That moonless, dark, holy night
Do you want a baby brother
Or a baby sister to play with?
As the moon slowly waxed further
Deep in my mother’s womb

(1999)

My Father’s Tears

Mother’s tears celebrated in lute and lyre
Not so my poor father’s, no less viscous
Father’s tears are a fit subject for poetry
Unhonoured in his very child’s early prattle,
They glisten like sweat, even in early spring
A nuisance to be wiped to chirp again
Father’s tears, unshed and shed
At prosaic spots, far from the din of poets
Watching them down the wrinkled paths,
On adamant clocks late at night
Feeling yet the wet of his daughter’s kiss
Or his son’s dart – he didn’t ask to be born.

(2004)

Chappals

Have you ever realised why
Women raise their chappals
When you propose to them?
It is assent, not dissent
They realise it all so very well
Chappals are true symbols of love
One cannot live without the other

(1997)

Plight Of School Goers

School goers are both parents and children,
Bound together by blood and mutual plight
It is also mutual agony, at different times
The children at school raising questions
That teachers cannot answer, examiners
Posing problems that parents cannot solve
Yes, parents should study better than kids
For they turn teachers when sun goes down
Studying first themselves, tired after work
Then braving to inflict on brainy kids
All of whom are now tired and asleep
Quietly preparing for next days' trouble.

(2000)

Late Honeymoon

"You were beautiful"
I said, tasting several islands
Of sweet, salt and sour
Held within the peninsula
Of my late evening tiffin plate
"I thought you would cook well"

"You were handsome"
She said licking cut finger
Sweating, dirty sink full
Onion tears, rotten vegetables
Early to rise, late to bed admist
"I thought you would earn well"

(2003)