A woman's day

 am breathing fevered air into my mask, waiting for my time with the doctor. I see them both, ushered out of the consultation room. An elderly man and a woman. I notice her saree, there is something calm and deliberate about her. He sits in the row in front and I notice three crinkles at the base of his bald skull as he lowers himself into the chair. Crinkles straighten out once he is seated. Her saree is dull fuschia with tiny prints with a zari border. It hangs on her gracefully while her indigo blouse radiates a quiet aesthetic. She is enquiring at the pharmacy while he sits. He walks ahead while she is still finishing up her transaction. After she is done her eye scans the exit and finds him already out. She finishes and calmly walks out carrying all the papers and files. She must've cooked lunch and put them in casseroles so that they could go home and eat hot lunch. 

Elections

 Is there any electioneering?

asks a cousin

we are trying to cool off 

this sticky hot sumner

with some beer 

and inevitably

talk of impending 

voting day sits with us

nodding, smirking 

making faces, disdaining

our puny analysis,

it knows better

holds everything to ransom

our hopes, fears and discomforts

it knows how the day will unfold

who will come to the polling booth

dressed for a picnic to vote, 

who won't bother to haul themselves to a booth

frustrations of those who may not find their names on the list 

who will press NOTA 

brand new voters like my child

who knows what fascism means

we continue to chat animatedly 

as if this smirking creature didn't exist.

List poem

 Chakka

Manga

Thenga

Pavakka

Podalanga

Murangakka

Vellarikka

and some

Mallipoo

because I can't find konnapoo

for this Vishu

A bit of breeze

 Singer is drawing out an aaa

that seems never ending

flowing westwards towards

the Arabian sea

there is a breeze that

wants to carry that bit of aa

am just

a listener wanting a bit of breeze

Everything moves

Two traffic cops on duty

on the curve at Mission road

bantering with their masks

not fully covering their noses

the road is packed with automobiles

whirring with their engines on

there is not much space 

even for a stray dog to pass

haze of exhaust

hundreds of lungs struggling

some gasping even

right in front of the big cancer hospital

two cops distractedly regulate traffic

everything moves .

A little shadow

Giggling when it moves back and forth

a pirouette and it does too

a running burst and then two steps backward

then a quick side step

It is still there, joined at her feet

Loyal 

Dancing with her,

Delighted she claps her hand and points to her shadow

wonder written on her face

I have a friend she seems to say

Her parents are a few steps ahead

#7 Highway

 Amidst uncut grass

in a red checked shirt

balancing on a leg 

with a big black bag hanging on a shoulder

A half smile

waiting to cross or to hitch a ride

a man on the highway.

if it were a woman in a red sari with a bag on her hips

it would be different short story altogether 

#6 Summer walk

 Walking in Lalbagh

on a hot summer day today

recalled many decades ago

my grandmother from Kerala

on a visit to Bangalore was taken to Lalbagh 

she who didn't even wear chappals

walked all over and came back

tired and unenthused

what's there to see, I do this every day back home-walking among trees

dragging back fallen palm fronds and collecting coconuts.

she would've loved to have watched a film instead

don't we all need many worlds to survive?

#5 Daily wage chores

fest at the feet

of a Copperpod tree

chiaruscuro 

she sweeps

fallen flowers

to reveal cracked tiles

he dangles

on a harness

painting tangerine 

Illusive and elusive- nights in my city

 The street feels like anxiety; like that clingy friend in college shadowing you that you don't have the gumption to shake off.

Serial lights toggle to project

Maramma and  Ganesha in green red and blue on to the streaming traffic

A Zomato driver has a screen of Google maps and within that another screen of an IPL match. 

It may not be his last delivery 

Honks announce a green light

Night seems unattainable

Part of a past that no longer exists

Nights when everything cast ominious shadows, rustling leaves held a mystery. 

Or a faraway bark made you hurry home

Happy you weren't that stray with a litter in the ditch

Nights seem part of once upon a time  moonlit story

#3 Pink ball

 a pink ball rolls

around a corner

of a rectangular park

a newly erected fence

in green and gold 

edged with spears and arches

stands inscrutable

you can tell yourself

in a sinister whisper or 

a bouyant shriek, 

'I SEE traffic through a trellis'

with a burst of screeching friction

and heaves of mortar fattened pillars, a metro train passes above.

pink ball stops rolling,

settles itself, somewhat unclaimed.

turn of the corner reveals

an urchin with lopsided buttons 

and his merry belly button running,

brandishing an yellow plastic bat.

walkers gather pace, crunching

on scattered orange leaves

 of an Indian almond tree

 unafraid of solitary pink balls

#2

 Screeches in the dark

owl on a bare branch

Ripe mangoes

hanging fruit bats

Splashes in the pool

unafraid of school

Clattering vessels

scarce water

A child's shriek

on soft grass

A dog's bark

long lost bone

A poem

found words

Sulaimani chai

 A tiny bark of cinnamon 

 two pods of cardamom

 twin buds of clove

 what's not to love

 of the aroma

  pounded and dropped

  into boiling water

 swirling in the eddy

 restlessly they bob everywhere 

 ah ginger should be with them

 now for the heat to be off 

 so a few tea leaves can join the pot

 The lid is is important,

 no magic happens in daylight

 darkness releases gold

 sieved into a cup

 with a squeeze of lemon

 and a dollop of honey

  you are struck by wonderment 

  at the number of species that made

  this perfect cup of sulaimani chai

 Continents apart

phone conversations 

redraw the map

In every child's mind

mother she is

never a girl

Singing a song

bending sounds

to soothe a nerve

In an old diary

finding love

cringing in defeat

Favourite day in April

 A month of summer showers

blooming flowers

searing heat

school holidays

train journeys 

long days

playing house,

a birthday

Jacaranda, gulmohar and I

are in it together

heralding this month

and today happens to be 

my favourite day

Giant Indian Squirrel

Twirling a bushy tail and all

leaping  big leaps

that seem like flying, 

living in the upper canopies

of trees that spread

her mate is right,

he who can build many a nest

on slender branches.

she uses one at a time

a breeding home,

the rest decoy homes

to trick a serpant eagle or an owl

you wonder why this trickster 

Giant Indian squirrel

isn't in a super hero film.

Highways

 Inaugurated by bigwigs

modern national highways lack charactar

unlike the old meandering state highways

with large trees lining both sides.

old landmarks and eateries go missing

with roads vying with cars to reach somewhere faster.

as everything passes in a Jiff

you see on hoardings men sell steel, cement and loans  while women sell jwellery sarees and cookers

somethings aren't so different in the modern highways afterall. 

Where do the memories go

When an old home

is painted and tiled anew

where do all the memories go?

Do they hide between two new coats of paint biding their time?

Where is that wall with a depression

that had horizontal pencil lines

showing how the little one grew from two feet to be taller than a parent?

What of the passionate embraces that had etched themselves on the walls,

 smells of food that had spread everywhere while the chaos of anger, peels of laughter, rifts, reprimands having echoed and settled on a dusty loft?

Were they telling  themselves that this palimpsest will be investigated sometime soon and in the meantime they'll wait for the paint to peel?

Pulsing vein

 A pulsing vein

visible at the wrist 

is telling a story

if you want to listen.

Heart's emissaries;

aorta and arteries have delivered oxygenated blood to the remotest muscle and ligament and organs of your body making it possible

for your fingers write,

your toes flex, your brain to function, 

your eyes to blink. 

unaware of the infinitesimal changes

Just under your skin

 you have now depleted the oxygen, your blood needs a recharge

 that vein you saw pulsing

 takes your deoxygenated blood

 back to the heart.

 ah right, you now

 go back to fiddling with your phone

Prompt: explain something in your poem 

 Bench alone

Drooping leaves

Airless corridors

Listless walkers

Floundering gossip

Nobody cares

Covid news

Election litter

Desperate fans

Warm air

Enveloping somnolence

Waiting for rains