A Hosewife's woes

A housewife's
Bagful of woes

Begin with morning chores
and end with midnight snores

Her kids must be polite
Soft spoken , elite

Must be sporty , smile
studious , lithe and agile

She herself be perfect
look good , stand erect

Smiling , being tall
Never scowl \fall

Never speak gaalis
No "saalaas \saalis"

She should be proper and  prim
 belong to creme de la creme

Thinner the better
not look like a critter

Her windows gleam
her kitchen glisten

Her bathrooms a-fresh
her cheeks a- flush

Her dal makhni delicious
her ear studs semi precious

her cakes lajawab
her looks a "Khwaab"

her english  diction
should attain perfection

She should solve algebraic sums
never sit idle on her bums

Her brains should never rot
should shop at a trot

Drive like a seasoned pro
Ferry kids , to and fro

when does the saga end ?
Only when the spirits blend

Not a cocktail, but in
afterlife , therein

She can breathe, in peace
Silence, when life cease(s)

A teenaged diet

 No. I can't eat that

the refrain comes pat 

a war is certainly afoot 

over trivia like food

One loves her carrots 

hates green  peas 

another makes it a point 

to shatter peace

She loves the green things 

only hates red ones 

Hope prances and springs 

on its pointy toes 

One would like peanuts 

in her upma 

A double helping of grits 

Please , ma 

Another silently lines them up

separately at the plate side 

Like prisoners of war , 

later to their fate decide 

One exclaims "Cumin!!"

"Why do you put it in ? "

As if it is in my hands 

to rewrite recipes of lands 

On the same occasion ,

there is a lamentation 

"Why no jeera ?

Where is my kheera ?"

Onions , no
Beetroot , oh no
Capsicum umm
Cheese yumm

A look in my fridge
will reveal the age
of my offspring(s)
No reds , no green

Only shades of white
cream , grey and spite

Faith healing

"My child is sick,very sick. " Anju said , as she always did , with little or no preamble , her hands elbow deep in sink and dishes.

You are usually expected to ask , "What ? why?How? " in varying degrees of surprise and outrage . If it entails absence from the workplace , it is all the more an opportunity to grieve. Genuinely. More severe the illness , longer the absence , greater the misery for the mistress of the house . 

Compassionate steps are taken , and the Anju is referred to the doctor of the house , who luckily happens to be at home , at the time of this said episode . History , signs and symptoms are gleaned after several linguistic hurdles have been crossed . Punjabi-Hindi-bhojpuri, back to Punjabi -hindi-english - some medical jargon . It is decided that the said child is suffering from a bout of recurrent pneumonia and that he should be administered injectable antibiotics .Which being the state of affairs , is impossible . Hence a leave of two days and an advance of some money is made , so that the kid may be looked after in a hospital/OPD setting . 

Two days later , the triumphant and beaming Anju arrives to a grimy , dusty house , with overflowing garbage cans and kitchen sinks stacked high with stinky dishes with two days' old dal drying on them . In other words , she is surrounded by squalor , and is happy , why ? 

The answer should have been written in chaste bhojpuri to get across the lightning bolt effect . But to render it mellow , if not slightly scratch-the -head quizzical, here is the english version. 

"That money you gave me , I didn't waste it on the doctors and medicines we were treating him with "

She said with a grin that revealed betel scarred teeth. The heart sank , as this conversation was entering an all too familiar , and dismal , terrain . 

"Where did you go then ?" I swatted a fly , knowing the answer before it was spoken . 

"I went to the Holy man ."

"Ahem"

"He took a ghost out of him , out of my boy." 

"Okay , what ghost?Kaun?" 

Apparently , a young mother had passed away in their vicinity , not many days ago , and the distraught husband took to sharing Anju's husband's happy hour . The theory goes that this young mother's spirit , being very much around, decided to enter Anju's baby boy. Why the deceased spirit chose this hapless boy is a mystery. By all accounts, the deceased was a battered soul at the hands of her drunkard husband. If there was someone she should vent her ire on , it should be this arrack-sodden being .

Well, to cut a long story short , the boy has returned happy , and is playing quietly around in the dirt , outside the home , a visible sign of recovery . He no longer sought Anju's lap .

Hence Anju has happily left him rollicking in mud with his siblings , while she dusts , cleans and sparkles other people's homes . 

A curated life

1. Already I am late
   A life to curate ?
   What to create ?
   Appetites satiate 

   How to contain
   nature’s own creation
   Channel the fountain
   Go against the grain

   A curated life ?
   Weed out strife ?
   Cut out the trifle ?
   Howls to stifle ?

   Teach me ,
   Oh wise one
   Teach me
   How is it done 

   For I am yet to learn
   Straighten the urn
   Fling out yester’s ashes
   fill it up with neon flashes 

   Of degrees ,medals, scores
   marks ,grades and mores
   With money and gold
   Wealth , riches untold

   How much life can you hold ?
   What % for reluctant smiles
   What % for statements bold
   How many traversed miles ?

Power cut

The night was hot and sticky . The kids had cried themselves to sleep. Another power cut , stilled fans , humming mosquitoes . Long power cut . Entire village plunged into primeval darkness. One odd candle flickering in someones window . Tired and sweaty , she got up to help herself to a tumbler of water from the earthenware pot next to her bed . Once the glass was empty, she picked up the end of her cotton "pallu" and wet it from the drops clinging to the sides of the glass, then wiped her face . Looking at the tiny bodies sleeping next to her , she wiped three sweaty brows of underwear clad babies . The eldest , a pre teen of nine years , woke up . Quickly sitting up , she spoke , in the dark "what is it Ma ? No light , as yet ?"

"Hush , you will wake them up". Ma whispered . The girl hushed up , aware of the pains Mother took,  to put the youngsters to sleep.  "No light , yet Ma "She whispered again . Light was a euphemism for power . No power , no light . Ma sighed . Then got up , and quietly opened the bed room door. A cool breeze blew in . But it was dangerous to leave the door open in the village . Rodents and snakes quickly find their way in . You can't even see them in the dark . The breeze reduced the stifling inside , it also rustled the sleeping kids hairs , and they sighed with contentment in their sleep . The girl found her thin cotton frock and hastily wore it.

 Mother hesitated at the threshold . Not knowing if keeping the door open was a good idea or not . The girl walked upto her and slipped her tiny , sticky hand into her bony , calloused ones . Mother smiled at her then stepped out of the thatch roof . The sky was blazing with countless stars . It is only in the village that she saw this inky black sky with millions of twinkling lights . The grass felt cool under their feet . They sat on the grass , with the hut door open , and stared at the sky silently . They must have sat there for quite some time , for mother felt the girls' breath become heavy , and her head sag on her shoulders . She picked her up in arms , her long legs dangling over Ma's saree , and brought her in to lie on the cot with the two others . The rusty fan , almost on cue , creaked to life , and a collective sigh rose from the bellies of the slumbering village. She then got up and shut the door out . The stars in the sky continued to twinkle , even as the street lamps flickered to life , inviting a  sudden swarm of insects . A dog barked somewhere , and Ma laid down . The horizon was slowly turning pink-gold.

Brilliance

Brilliance
can be
a flash in the pan
convenient
conventional
and
contained

Another
disturbing type
is the continued
brilliance
of the desert sun
which
scorches
burns
and
blinds

The newborn

“there she goes , bawling again!!”

He whispered urgently , making two distinct foggy patches on the glass, one from his mouth , another , smaller one , from his nose . After a while , he sniffed. Then took out his specs to wipe them . He was crying . Goodness!! Who was the baby here ?

“For heavens sake , calm down !! Babies bawl , she will be fine .” Amita tried to drag him away from the glass partition , but he wont be budged . He kept chanting “Don’t cry baby .Put your little foot down .” Whispering , entreating , drooling over the glass , almost getting himself expelled from the premises. 

Drama quotient runs high in our family . Specially with him . And now he was a grandpa. Unstoppable . Amita sighed with resignation on the green reccine sofa . “It was a mistake to bring him along to see the baby ,” She thought , resolving never to drive him down again.

She wondered looking at him go to pieces , like this , at a newborn baby, how he had managed to raise four kids , through illnesses , adolescence and bad relationships . Amita developed new respect for her eminently patient sister , sitting on the edge of the sofa , staring straight ahead , pretending not to see or hear her better- half bawl his eyes out . 

Presently , the daughter-in -law called for her mother-in-law , and Rita stood up with the basket full of essential supplies , dry clothes for the new mother , diced fruits , hot water in thermos flask , and more nappies for the baby . 

Amita . still full of admiration for her sister , went in and realised that Jiju, despite his display of histrionics , had decided to stay in the visitor's foyer.

"He will faint if he so much as sees a drip in her arm . Better let him sit here ." Rita explained confidentially , once in the changing area. 

Strangely, Amita found Jiju calmly contemplating a semi clad Sunny Leone on a magazine cover , scratching his bald pate , when the sisters emerged , an hour later , once the visiting time was over . 

He hastily put away Sunny and meekly followed them to the parking lot .