Playground

As you sit on the stone bench
Looking across the playground
Waiting for the school bell to ring
To fetch your son home
Your feet itch to run a lap
Try to catch your runaway youth by the neck
Hold him for a while before he gives you the slip.
When I bring him back for the cricket coaching class
My son's classmates, no bigger than the bat ask
"Uncle, were you a player once?"
"Did you play for your school, college?"
As they watch me play shots in the air.
"More than learning the game, or excelling in it
Or getting into the team or winning
Enjoy the feel of the ground under your feet
The sun on your face, the sheer joy of running,
The surge of blood as you hit a ball
Take a catch or a wicket
The sweating, the sweet ache of your body after.
You must love it so, you want to hit the ground again
If this happens, other things don't matter.
Someday you can sit on a stone bench as this
And look at a playground with love."
They didn't seem to understand
But the way they ran into the ground
Showed they already knew.

A tall order

I made this list
On a sleepless night,
Wanted to hang it on
My wish-tree,
Thought the better of it,
Knowing it was a tall order
No one could serve.
I want no one but you
To see this
But you must not make it your own!
You can read it now:
"I wish
To be understood
When I speak
To be consoled
When I grieve
To be repared
When I lose
To be pulled back
When I stray
To be fed
When I am hungry
To be given
When I want
To be forgiven
When I sin
To be mourned
When I die."

Room of the dead

It's not yet fourteen days
After her death
The closure ceremonies
Still some way away
The light has been kept on
In my mother's room
As in the hall
Verandah and backyard
The elders tell me
To keep the spirit away
The house overflows with relatives
The elderly ones have made it a point to come
Knowing this may be their last
And their best chance to say goodbye
To those they may not see again
I am unable to sleep
A hubbub of voices in the head
The segandi and the conch still going on
I cannot look that way
Without a shiver
The mattress has been put away
The cot out of sight
Circles made by medicine bottles
Are still seen on the sill
Can a room be emptied of
A person who is dead
Like a pocket
I suddenly hear her admonishing voice
"Take your meals on time!"
I get up and shut the door

Nowhere to hide

Children think
They know
The best places
To hide.
Wnen it turns out

They do not

They want you to pretend
You can't find them
And go around helpless
Calling their names
Ignoring the giggles
Coming from under the bed
Or from behind the door.
How lovely, like the moon
Emerging from the clouds
Or like a chick hatching
To see them peep
Or come running out
Happy to have hidden

Happier to be found.
It is not long before
The game ends
And you drag them out
From under the bed
Or behind the door
To send them to school.

A dream house

Is one you can
Only dream of
Never dream of
Should never dream of.

2
Where before you
Go to sleep can order
Dreams with happy endings
Dreams you don't remember
Tantalising ones you wish you would.

3
Is one
If it is foreclosed
You always dream of.

4
Where if you know
How to look
Can see the walls
Plastered with the dreams
Of those who build houses
For others to dream in.

Nameless

No one calls me by name, anymore
The postman, yes, but that's official
(I get hardly any mail these days)
My parents, playmates, close colleagues,
I've survived them all ---
Standing on this 80-plus dizzy peak
Is not a feat I'm proud of
Does the summiteer know
The vanity of conquest?
Or if he knows
Does he admit it?
I am afraid
I'll forget my name, soon
If no one uses it
I might even think
It is someone else they're calling
(That is, as long as I can hear)
Just to avert that possibility, (keep this confidential)
I look at the mirror, every morning
Greet myself, loudly
"Hello, Ambi, how are you!"
"I'm fine, thank you!"
I smile and nod at my hang-dog image
I tell him
"Be a companion unto yourself!"
However, I would rather, someone else
Came calling my name, soon
"Ambi, your time is up.!"
Would I not go bounding
Like a dog to his master?

Nothing

From inside the locked wooden cupboard
Our landlord had abandoned
In a corner of the hall
Right against the wall
Everyone often heard
Something sinister
Sometimes a whisper,
A scrape, a sniffle, a him or her
Especially on a cold night or a deserted hour.
All who were called in, well
Had a story to tell
"Must be the landlady's sister's spirit!
The one who hanged herself, desperate!"
An elderly lady said, as if with envy.
Children hoped aloud for a genie
That would fetch them, grateful
The dark shop halwa, by the plateful
Before they would let it fly
With a reluctant goodbye
Like they did the dotted butterfly
They caught the other day
As it lay drunk or dreaming on a flower.
"Let's open it and find out, what's in there!"
The curiosity getting the better of fear
The key was fetched and someone flung the double doors open
Older children standing guard with raised makeshift weapon ---
Younger ones, ready to run, by the door ---
What a blow! What a letdown!Nothing was there! Nothing but air!
Not even a note with a curse
Leave alone an imp or spirit or worse.
And worse --- the noise stopped abruptly after
It was heard no more
Though we wished we could, once more
And kept our ears open
Wanting to be shaken
Out of our wits, again.
Though we begged the cupboard to speak
Wanted it to squeak
Implored it didn't look right
It didn't budge, just stood quiet.
Somehow, it didn't seem fair
That the cupboard was bare
That someone didn't care.