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      

MEMORABLE HOMEWORK

Icing for the groggy eyes and foggy brain

few minutes left for the familial 5.45 alarm 

long yawns caress the bed side bottle

the ring straightens me, ten steps sauntered

splashed water awakes me, hubby's peck starts my day.

inner growls silenced in meditation next

yoga poses gear to follow

shower, pray and write, each glued at their spot

breaks in between charge my battery

cook then read, the mind and body enriched with the flow

rhythm of it as spicy as the cooked curry 

or as soft as rolled chapatis

therapeutic Wordle or Sudoku post lunch itineraries in queue.

Household chores peep in between, each escort the subsequent

persistent repetition flavours day's design 

teen foam over cup of tea stimulated in tuitions after

workout of tolerance at times with zoned out adolescents

exhausted mind itches for physical movement

Setting sun watches my laps or gym exercise

 a valuable contentment

a joy so intimate none can decode

half supine, laze on the couch well earned

web series enjoy the Indian aromas on our plates

all dimensions used, bed beckons the filled persona

each activity a treasure trove

the devil far from the workshop

the mind and body vaccinated to ward it off

the ring of next day in store

THE BOOKSHELVES

 Did Elanor succumb to Ralph's temptations, or James felt heartbroken at Elanor's secret?

My drooping eyes bid them goodnight, eager to chat with them the next day

Lonely or moody, angry or happy, characters snuggled in bookshelf  

takeout time, engross me in their musky world, 

my dislike for Ralph 

heightened respect for James chews each word. 

 Relations with unknown travellers, some brief, some stretch

last month on Bosporus River, the pervious on German border 

my days or months soak in Naipaul's wet British weather

or chill in Desai's Darjeeling with the old judge.

The lure of the printed pages, the authors stares

as I pass amidst chores

stacks of spirituality, suspense, memoirs fantasy, fiction 

in comfort of my living room, a bit of me arrested in some page

in novels read.

The comfort of their presence in shelves or in my hand

pleasure of their company, they do not judge me, nor leave my side. 

My house lifeless in their absence, 

shelves increase to nudge old ones and shift for new arrivals

old ones revisited to jog memory

some wink at the other, author in two places

favourites do emerge, yet none left out

conversation of lifetime

both committed hands held in matrimony forever.

EVENING OF LIFE

Three steps walked with bent back, then straight with a sigh

fourth visit to the loo, the clock's eyes meet mine

only two hours since he woke up
frequency taught in physics lessons
now in practice, husband's ramp walks back to the sofa.

Frantic search for eyeglasses of mine
spouse's hearty laugh greets my smirk
his fingers touch perched eyeglasses on my head.

Each day a new theatrical performance,
actors and audience one and the same
opening morning shot
act of balance without rainbow bruised knees and elbows

Memory games tried with personalised variations
of, if pills were eaten or the same pill eaten twice
of anniversary messages with muddled names of spouses

Mathematics a weekly affair to round dwindling savings
or to count the scarce ring of doorbell or phone
each intrusion heartily awaited amidst
catnaps and melody of open mouth snores

The bathroom mirror does its daily homework
numbering hairs left on scalp
kids of the block do Maths practice
of our residual teeth
Indoor game of hide and seek for keys, mobile and pen
tireless activities for the timeless

Visit to doctor, a frequent outing
walking stick, dentures and hearing device
the new besties in tow
old outings preserved in mobile galleries
a finger count of number of faces alive

Silence and ennui, the permanent roomies
share the opera of groans and grunts
each time one sits or stands
physical exercise of a cracked dimension

Both on couches, pleated skins
sixty-five years of glued life
a marriage anniversary, a marvel in itself
each feed the other bit of the sweet
the bespectacled pair stares fondly

She serves his favourite potato fry
he orders her apple pie a shared ritual
the room full of chuckles, table laid with dishes
thirty-two years over, her eyes moist

shrivelled anniversaries of times ahead.

   

DOMAIN

This is how the painter's strokes of each flower and bud

tempt my attempt to coat her vision

Nature's umpteen riot of buds and bulbs

crawl across the man-made wall.

The towering barrier braced to bifurcate nature

spectacle armoured to blanket the cooped side

Both sides of greenery refreshing as morning coffee

manufactured bricks pile to leave their hardened print 

caress of enchanting flora on the tender Earth obscured.

A battle for one scarce resource 

mankind teased to enjoy the palette of nature

apprehensive crevices or fences may swallow the rush of beauty.

  

PERCEPTION

To the staring sky. few sets of scraped fingers protrude

a barren sight of sun-tanned figurines

erect and tall as human egos

some sided coarse as jilted anger

 others smooth as politician's lies

layers of rocks solidified for support.

Man made Legos in competition

Discarded pebbles and stones on the floor

whimper, the lonely plant offering sympathy

A landscape stripped of moisture

war torn eyes bereft of tears

nations supplying weapons to wipe.

The brick orange matching cloud patches

chin up endorsed reaching for 

orange streaks amidst

sprinkled blobs of white on sachets of blue.

Each spec narrating their own story

with no one to listen

THE FIRST ONE

 16.30, the phone rings, ecstatic voice of my dad ' it's a girl'

Aug 8th, that evening, a little angel entered our lives

my feet rush to the hospital to glimpse this awaited addition.

She was ours, little Niharika.

The sun, moon, stars, all a blur for our family 

her wails, her burps, sneezes. smiles 

was what world seemed for our family in the next couple years.

Her smile cooling scorching summery Indian afternoons 

her warm hug soothing clattering cold mornings 

every pair of hands eager to hold her.

A stray dog caught her attention

her curiosity caught my dad's attention

and we got Snoopy, a cute fluffy dog.

a four-legged cutie who never left Niharika alone.

Half century of mine and my sis over

yet feels like yesterday her first smattered words

Anna kolakochy and Babuchi.

Her accidental choke on an ice cube 

blue, her lip colour stopped all our hearts for a sec. 

my mum's timely effort saved her, little did my mum knew 

hidden traits this little one would make her practice.

Fifteen years ago, this girl flew from her nest

today, building her own with warmth and love of Jamie.

A boy, whom my Mum adores a lot, maybe if not less

equal to Niharika. 

Jamie, welcome to our family. just as she is our first one

you are like our first son.  

Two matured adults, building their life brick by brick

We may be far away tucked in sands of Qatar

but just remember, there are still many pairs of hands 

eager to help you, hug you both and take care 

if you ever need us. 

Loads of love to the beautiful new couple.............