A new neighbourhood.
Training the mind to forget old girlfriends.
A new school; learning how to sit in
the same classroom with boys.
New bus numbers. 424, which keeps you
connected to the old neighbourhood.
411, 432, 490, 541 and a numberless mini bus
that pull you through the city's arteries
so you can hear it breathe.
A new house, unpolished and incomplete
but with a terrace overhead and a wide field behind.
New markets, haphazard and dusty,
sleepy in the daytime, grubby and
noisy in the evening. New neighbours,
all sharing gossip in your tongue.
Old shenanigans on new street, field.
Old lunchtime mischief with new school friends.
Old joy of sharing produce with,
asking for ice from, new neighbours.
Old sweat and crowd on new bus routes.
Old luscious chapter of mangoes in new house.
Old comfort of studying constellations
with grandfather on new terrace.
Old relief of finding known strength in the sinews of a new life.
The dance of the old and new and new and old is reassuring even if we know that it can be hard...Thank you for this, Bhaswati
ReplyDeleteYou said it, Charu. Thank you.
DeleteThank you, Bhaswati. This old and new brings so many memories of my own childhood! (learning how to sit and then, how to sit in a classroom with boys was an ouch moment for me.)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Geethanjali. This resonance is perhaps the most rewarding aspect of being a DR poet. :-)
Delete