The Mango Curry

The beauty that is

Mango Pulsedi 

This deserves the Nobel prize

My exclamation on a full stomach 

Holds truth and supercilious dreams

Not knowing if the Nobel even cares

Of raw love and hearth transmogrified into culinary excellence 

The Pulsedi is overwhelmingly beautiful 

I am simply overwhelmed 

The butteryness of the gravy 

The texture of the shred coconut 

The way the mango melts on my tongue

Unripened ones boiled in water and jaggery 

And I hope that the Gods are kind enough

That when I die, let it be after I have had my fill of this love

Let me have my last meal

In the plates of my home, scrubbed and shining 

After I have felt the spices that my grandmother kept in a tin box

My God,

Please be merciful 

If death must come at once

Please let it be now

Please let it be like this.

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India Untitled.

I know India mothers

In its pulsating belly

(The epicentre of life)

A darkness that expands each day

And yet, each time

I can only feel

The rain on my skin

An ambled road carved into a field

Taking me home to sweet grains

And soft dal and warm hearth

The light that I capture in my eyes

Perhaps makes me truly blind

From the darkness that I just won’t let

Seep into my lashes.
R.S.


Dal: lentils