And he went away

The Tree Pie flew down close to the old woman. Gingerly she lifted her right hand, the forefinger and the middle held close together. It was a weathered hand that had touched and been touched in a million different ways. The bird seemed to understand that the experienced hand would be as good a perch as any. The weathered face moved a tiny bit attempting a semblance of a smile - like the first few words uttered by the baby that are only approximations to what is intended. But Oh so beautiful they are! Even more than the well articulated word.

She sat like a mannequin in a store window not even blinking her eyes. The Tree Pie cocked his head from side to side surveying the area till he spied a juicy treat, a spider hanging head down from his web that was glinting in the Sun. A magnificent swoop and the spider didn't even realize when he had become the bird's snack. She blinked then, and her heart suddenly skipped a beat; she felt a constriction in her throat that she found hard to describe. It was a similar feeling that she had felt that night when she accompanied her son to the airport and when he hugged her and pulled away. He turned, and took quick long strides towards the Check-in counter, not once looking back. Her hands felt that they were useless suddenly, an appendage she did not know what to do with. They hung at her sides, lifeless. The rest of her body obeyed and when her son's friend said, "Aunty, let's go.", she turned around mechanically and each foot moved as if the controls were in someone else's hands.

to you

in your words there is beauty

in your thoughts there is truth

love, life and gravitation you talk about

never scared of sounding philosophical or uncouth

with you through conversations & silences

with you through life and death

i'll always choose you of all poets

and love you till my last breath

there have been a few times of war

and many moments of fight

to tell the truth, in my thoughts

you have almost always been right

yes, many a times, we are on different planes

but to make a piece of glass beautiful - one needs many stains...

Karthik

he comes
riding his mother's waist
grins and shows
his already darkening teeth
one, two no three
amulets tied on black & red threads
hang around his tiny neck
kohl that would have sufficed
me a month
is all there
making him look
like a kathakali performer
the black dot to ward of evil
can not be missed on his forehead
his hands clutch
at the orange ice-candy
he snatched from his elder brother
runs for the bright red
anthurium in the pot
as soon as mum
puts him down
"no, no" say I
he looks at me
with a lopsided grin
his mum is sweeping the garden
dust rises up
all around
his ice-candy is melting
down his arms
instinct makes me pick him up
and then
I gauge
I think
I put him down
where his mum
has finished sweeping...

Uh...uh...

Notions. Preconceived. Images. Prejudices. I had them all. For years fifteen have I known her. She looks the same still. Four feet nothing. The 120/- rupee synthetic saree with unrecognisable print and colour. The ear-rings hanging from holes that can probably fit the whole ear-ring in. The imitation mangal-sutra tied up in places with strings less it comes apart . The blouse, much too tight at the arms; the flesh bulging a little as if to protest against this unnecessary cruelty. the petticoat peeping out from under the saree - another nondescript undescribable colour though completely different from the saree. The toes with the silver toe rings - shining cause they get washed every day with the feet. The feet themselves relating the tale of the 60 years that they have lived; the 5 years of working in a field; the 10 years of working on a construction site carrying bricks up the scaffoldng of a premier science institute being built; the 10 years of sitting on her haunches on the soot spread kitchen floor of a college making chapattis for 500 reidential students and the 20 years of trudging through the roads of aundh in her hand-me-down fit-me-not slippers to work in other people's homes - cleaning their bartans, washing their clothes, shining their floor everyday.
She was busy. Getting the washing of the bartans over with. Busy with my morning cup of tulsi and lemon grass embellished tea and the newspaper, I pay her no attention. The backdrop noise is one I am used to. "I think I will finish early and go today", she says. "What?" "There's a sakharpuda - my aunt's aunt's daughter-in-law's sister." The tea and paper forgotten - impending disaster. "But why do you need to go for your aunt's aunt's daughter-in-law's sister's sakharpuda?!"
In a low voice, without meeting my gaze; "uh... uh... she is getting married to the son of the man I was engaged to in the village". "What! you were engaged to someone else besides Nana!" (the nana you have been married to for the last 48 years! Even gentler "yes". "Why did you not marry him?". Hoarsely "he refused to marry me". "Why? Why would he refuse to marry a 12 year old?" A whisper "because I hit him on the head with a stone". 'What?!"
"I hit him on the head with a stone and he was bleeding." "Why did you do that?!" "I was always playing with boys and we used to roam the whole village looking for trees with tamarind, mangoes, chikkus and figs. I was the quickest to climb and I also had the sharpest aim with the catapult. They used to call me Tulsa the viti-dandu champion of five villages. My mother could never keep me long enough in the house to teach me any of the house work. I would eat in my friends' homes if she refused to give me food when I did not do my share of the work in the house. That day, a month or so after my sakharpuda, me and my friends had decided to rob the mangoes from the most coveted mango tree in the village. But there was a dog in that house and we could not climb the tree. So I decided to throw some stones and try our luck. I was raining stones while my friends were collecting the falling mangoes on the other side. My eyes were only on the mango tree. I heard a scream and all the boys ran away. I went to see what the scream was about and realized that the man to whom I was bethroed was coming on the cycle and had been hit on the head with the stone. He was very angry and told his family that if this is what she is doing now, what will she do after the marriage. My brothers also thought I was too forward to be married to a boy from the village and found me a guy in Pune instead."
"Jaaon kyaa?" (can i go?) Pin-drop silence. "Otherwise he will think i did not come because of that." "Uh... uh... of course... of course... you must..."

My new friend

i've known you for long

i came to know you today

i've been your friend's friend

i came to be your friend today

tell me what your heart desires

tell me what you want

tell me what you need me to do

tell me even what you can't

come give me your hand

come let me wipe your brow

come let us write in the sand

come let us forget tomorrow

To Gauri

Friend

You made me see

The play of light

All that was in your sight

Girl

You made me feel

The smell of sweat

A neighbour's breath

Muse

You made me wonder

What was discussed

My thoughts in this verse - compressed!