I
remember those years of red letter boxes,
And
expected cycle rings on summer noon,
Heartbeats
rose and fell as he pedaled past,
No
parcels nor covers, and not even a card.
We
filled our father’s pen weeks past week,
Warded
crows off lemon pickles left to dry,
Practiced
math, wrote cursive within lines,
Until
our pencils shrunk shorter than thumb.
Then
came the card drowning mother in joy,
‘My
brother coming across a thousand mile’
‘Bombay
mail’s two minute halt’ father said,
‘On
his way, not to see you, fifty mile away’
Rainclouds
gathered over her furrowed eyes,
Growing
heavy and low as we ran for cover,
There
was lightning flash, then the thunder,
We closed our eyes tight for clouds to burst.
My
father resisted like umbrella in hurricane,
Blown
away, twisted and turned, inside out,
He
sighed and resigned to his fate with sulk,
For
two minute event One Day Earned Leave.
Rickshaw
to bus across hot and bumpy roads,
Halted
for lunch, tea, passing train, puncture,
Twice
more for my mother to vomit and relax,
And
once again for an unseen accident ahead.
Plodding weary to wrong platform just in time,
She
ran, dodged porters, passengers, luggage,
Jumped
steps, glimpsed the last coach leaving,
‘I
missed my brother but at least saw his train’