A WET HOLIDAY IN NINETIES

Deep in dreams, my wet strands awaken me
bedsheet moist, husband's wet back tapped
water around us, power outage, stoic ceiling fan stares
in-laws in the second room startled
daybreak lost in confusion
soaked sun towels itself

Cyclone hits a small town in southern India
dried sun captures the devastation
cracks on roads, uprooted tusks of trees fallen
electric poles and wires dangle, dead crows in drains
thatched huts roofless and bare

Nightmare jolts us all, no potable water
the rich and poor for once on the same page
rationed water bought in containers boiled,
colour of water muddy and red

Schools and offices closed; railway tracks submerged
telephone on a long-hushed silence
a walk around the town, lives reversed in minutes
old newspapers and magazines the breezy substitute

Candles and matchboxes in strong demand,
a week of pitch darkness
candlelight dinners in trickling sweat the new routine
musical score of tiny insects and mosquitoes
the undesired entertainment
each night a new game of treasure hunt
for recognized items
streetlights enjoy the night out
stars and sky the new celebrities in town
television just another rectangle

Government's efforts slowly bear fruit, tracks restored
chaos ends, we travel back, order restored
consolation, cyclone spared human lives.

© Now