Encore!

Reetigowlai, you've arrived unannounced -

And so I demand a celebration

I want to dwell on every 'swara' that forms you

Every 'gamaka' used to describe you, makes me green in envy of the singer who sings you

I want to see how you flow as a raaga

My joy knows no bounds when your chords hit my senses

Don't stay away from me for so long 

For there is no poetry without you

Come back to me in good measure

Each time you feel I need your dosage...

Nose

For what do they smell like?

Smell, completes the ritual,

Instilling a real-life feel to the virtual

Do they smell of imported fragrance,

Fresh tulsi, petrichor or the smell of food that lasts despite a good soap-wash?

This mad smell is what they were dying for,

Awaiting with a heart that overflowed with songs

No cover, no controller, just the songs from the air-waves

Reaching each other in timely moments,

Keeping them sane until they met and smelled to their heart's content

Long, deep breaths, in every pulse point and strand of hair

For they were not images that could be shot

Or tastes that lingered

Smell was all they yearned for.

Kolam

Staircase leading to the kolam, pond

Moss-laden, slippery

Porus-bricks that looked like blocks of home-made mysurpa

And then khadhar mundu

The air threatening to assume the smells of 

the yellow Sunlight detergent and the dark-pink Lifebuouy toilet soap

A specific smell of the village.

Dark-green water with a sheet of shadow and dry falling-leaves.

They stood immersed in water

Nudging each other under the green water cover

Purposefully oblivious about the translucency of water

The slow-rapid growth of their parts 

From flat surfaces to little mounds

The waters knew clearly how much they had grown

For they felt the heaviness of the parts, with each passing year.

Pickle

Washed once, washed again, and again

Until the conspicuously accumulated 'dirt' was removed

Chopped, diced - in geometric shapes

Triangle, square, rectangle, cube

All shapes reflecting the soul of the main piece 

Yet every new geometric form threatening to claim importance

Their perpetrator thus sent them for a batch of sun-drying

Dried, wrinkled, they returned, 

Yet strong, as though they had digested the rays of the sun

Their vulnerability sent for a sun-bath

Returned with pickled-freshness

Leaving a mouth-watering taste

On the tongue, that stuck-out,

Inviting more vulnerability-

For vulnerability added to the spice 

More sun-bath, a whole new process of metamorphosis.

570 dear

Headlights like ears, and a digital forehead-

A vehicle-kind that descended from the sets of Shankar's Urvasi Urvasi

With its wheels plying on the roads of generation 2K

As much as the song take-it-easy-policy makes you unwind,

Defeating the theory of Charles, elusive it never is.

Rahman and Ilayaraja played alike- drivers with an ear for music.

With the constant rhythm of the conductor's phrase- "ullava ullava!"(come in come in)

He is forever proud, flaunting its miraged sprawling spaciousness,

As though he owns the bus,

Taking account of every inch which was devoid of feet.

Myriad smells of toiletries from the bathrooms of software professionals

Threaten to remain fresh 

Circulating within the vents.

With music plugged in, books being read, Whatsapp screens nudged;

Virtual and real talks exchanged,

Laced with warm, familiar smiles amongst passengers.

A feeling of togetherness with the driver and his believers.

No rows assigned for "pengal" (women).

NO Gender Divide. Absolutely NONE.

Greets you with a hiss, when its doors open and close.

Brinjal

The rotund brinjal went to the kitchen

With all the pride of an egotist.

A firm green stem atop,

And a matte-purple bottom,

Resembling the sketch of humpty-dumpty.

Ignorant about hitting its pyre

It seethed with life,

Displaying fullness.

Soon- its heart, pierced, and body burnt

Shedding tears, ego shrouded

Skin wrinkling, fullness shrinking.

Hissing with hesitation, the fat vegetable cried even more

The firm green stem remained

Only as a grip to strip the vegetable.

In all its famished benevolence,

Brinjal dear was soon food for the egotist human. 

Cusp

You know what, I know it now!

You are a cusp!

He whispered into her ears

She asked why in amazement

Shades of two

The thrill of being with two women at a time

Both satiating him equally

Like the Parijatha tree

Symbolising Rukmini and Satyabhama alike.

But Draupadi, is aided by Krishna too :

She retorted. 

And chose to remain a multi-shaded Cusp

Drinking up mirth from every glass

Living her living by the day

Forgot and remembered things per convenience

Insanely dumb, cusped-madness.