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.

Remember me?

“Remember me!” It’s your last wish as you pack your bags.
As you place the muffler your mother knitted for you along with the green tie your sister bought you.
As you safekeep your travel documents and your passport in the leather purse.
Remember me…the words echo as I see you move towards immigration, and the last of you disappears.
As I drive the car back home and park it in the space of our building.
As I drink tea alone after five years of always having shared it with you.
Remember me… the memory floats as I water the plants that you so lovingly grew.
As I make a meal for one, instead of two.
As I start settling into a rhythm where I have no one to answer and no one to question.
Remember me…I surprisingly recall as I leave a dinner I had with friends after ages of dodging them.
As I pass my number to an old college friend I see years later.
As my heart races when he smiles at me while calling the waiter.
Remember me…it’s the drag of my conscience as I slip into the dress I had only brought for your eyes.
As I hold some one else’s hand and whisper sultry lies.
As I unbutton someone else’s shirt and unravel someone else’s tie.
Remember me…is just another phrase as I share my nights with someone new.
As a new number starts receiving my I love yous.
As I very conveniently forget you.
Remember me…it’s the startling reminder as I see you after a

thousand days.
As I clear the remainders of my past mistake.
As I slip my hand into yours again.

Krishna’s pen

image

You’re the only one I truly love
Don’t you know that you silly girl
When I’m pulling away
Their pots of water
And drying clothes
They’re pulling away
At my cheeks and ears
Cursing at me and shouting
Do you pause then
To see who they’re shouting at
Or do you go on your way
Resolutely carrying the pot of water
The mole below your lip
Droplets of sweat
Dance on your neck

Your hips swing
Carrying the weight of the pot
As you struggle to keep
The dupatta on your head
Do you stop then?
To look at the mischievous boy
Who has all the gopis
Huffing and puffing
And feeling flushed

Why do you still sit that way?
Not meeting my eyes
Still jealous and angry
Not letting me hold you
Making me restless
How can you abstain
From air and from water?
Now do you understand
This predicament of mine
How can I abstain from you?

Stubborn strong willed woman
I keep telling you
These gopis were my tools
To catch your attention
Oh Radha,
I’m a fool
I still am that young naive boy
Who used to seek your attention then
And still seeks it now 

This poem is based on the mythological lore of Radha and Krishna, both of whom are avidly worshipped in the Hindu culture. They were portrayed as childhood lovers who were later separated (in popular mythology).

R.S.

When you walk.

When you walk
I walk behind you

I do not follow you
I’m admiring you

Your footsteps leave their print
On the sand before me
I don’t try to fit my feet in them
I leave mine besides yours

You hum a song I can hear
So I snap my fingers
Not so that you look behind
But so that it accompanies your tune

That’s all I do really
When you walk
I walk behind you

I’m not following you
I’m falling in love with you.

R.S.

At least someone loves Eva.

Eva keeps on crying
Darling don’t be sad
Is it your old daddy’s fault
Why are you so mad?

So you’ve heard a few things
About your old man
Dishonourable that he was
Bringing shame to the clan

And you now know all
Of the whispers they spoke
Womaniser and Drunk
An addict of coke

And you read all the letters
Your mother wrote and wept
How instead of her husband
She preferred to embrace death

Poor Eva is sobbing
She doesn’t know what to do
But don’t you worry my love
Death will always love you

– R.S.

Distance

I find it so hard, how do you look like you’ve always belonged in the picture, I’m teetering at the edges but why does it feel like you’ve always been at the centre?
I look at you from afar, how much distance is there to cover?
I find you in my heart, but why can’t I be more near?

‚ÄĘBeauty in contradiction‚óŹ

It’s 3 am and it’s damn lonely without you.

Is your heart breaking like mine is?
Is it shattered into a trillion pulsing pieces.
Mine feel like they won’t ever be sewn back, my veins are throbbing in arms and I have an urge to rip them out, and I don’t like any part of me now, because no part of me now is a part of you.
And I hate meeting people we knew together, because every single one of their faces is a living reminder, that I’ll be seeing them now, without you with me, and I don’t like knowing anyone without you.
I want you besides me.
Is it still possible?
Can I hold your hand please?
Just once, can I taste you again?
I won’t ask again.
I promise.
I’m a dirty liar, I’ll keep on asking, keep on asking you to come back home.
Come back to me.
Will you though?
Can you forgive what happened between us and come back?
Can we go back to the way we were?
I’m suffocating without you.
Did you take away my air too?
Should I hate you?
Cause I can’t seem to stop loving you.
Will hate heal me?
Time won’t, I know it, time won’t be able to touch these wounds.
You’re too real for me to ever forget.
Will my heart ever mend?
Can you love me again?
Will my tears ever stop?
It’s 3 am and it’s damn lonely without you.