The Magic of the Fall
Come, autumn is here
The leaves are bejeweled
In gold, ruby red, and all shades in between
Let us play a bit more,
Laugh a little more
Till the last leaf on the maple falls
And the sun outside goes hiding for the long winter
Let us catch some heat,
before the rust of winter arrives
And cold forces its way
into each strand of muscle and sinew
Let us fill our eyes
and senses with autumnal bliss
Remind how beautiful it is to let go
How profound it is to move on
Like the leaves which leave the branches
they once so royally adorned
Gave life to, and made masses of wood
come alive as trees, that provided shade
Caught the breeze and bounced it back to the sky around
These leaves tell us to walk on with no baggage
of past or stake claim to their work
For when they are gone, happy memories
drizzle down to colour the barren and back canvas
With the colour of hope that the summer that is yet to come
Shall be awash with the spring-tide of life
Speaking to the Nights
Some dark nights
Weave magic in them
Call me to stay awake, talking
To the stillness and the calm
To the distant stars, and other-wordly charms
They embalm me with peace
Pacify my agitated soul with ease
Like a river flowing over rocks
A bed of heavy, rough rocks
Yet, not flushing them away
But smoothening them and rounding
The rough edges, and hard bends
Polishing into soothing pebble beds
What magic such dark nights hold
I fail to fathom, the depth of these
Long, deep and dark nights
Yet, they feel like the lanes to an old home
Waking up in the Morning
It’s 10 in the morning
I am looking at a day clad in snow
Bathing in the shower of fresh snow-flakes
A glistening sheen of white
Like a runway of dreams, shimmering and bright
Rooftops awash in a divine white
As if night long, nymphs & fairies played with their easels
And as the sun shines through the East
Majestic sun beams kiss the milk-colour streets
And the rays waltz the snow with a coquettish flair
An epic romance I watch from my window
I hurry to get to my work,
And heaps of things mundane
amid this rush of theatric rage
only to dive deep into a mug of caffeine
and sink into a day moribund and mundane
Ramadevi Chaat: An Ode to the Street Food of Bhubaneswar
Tarini, Durga and Shivani1,
All goddesses land in unison,
On the plates of the chatwala infront of the Ramadevi College.
Fiery, and red, the sauces and the plates
Like the potent weapons in the Goddess’ hands,
Come straight for your senses.
Many a romeo awaits
For his darling crush to serenade
Mounted on the latest motorbike of craze.
The Durga Puja field across the road
Looks at the families in peace.
Who, after a busy day through the Janpath,
Descend in droves to satiate themselves.
“Bhai, some more red sauce. Oh, a bit of chaat masala,
a dash of spices, some coriander, a bit of sliced onions.
It’s ok, make me another plate, for I have long forsaken shame!”
The Lingraj Lassiwala awaits too,
For like the Kalbaisakhi on a summer day,
His sweet syrup shall spiral its way,
To soothe the soul after the tempests of the day.
Dear Bhubaneswar, we can forever be away,
Yet never quite put you out from our minds.
For we have had the chaat and lassi of your shops,
Our loyalty is forever to stay!
1. These are the names of the Chaat shops in the locality the poet mentions in this piece.
The Florist of AG Square2
“Manoj, there comes the customer,
Go ahead, and show around the catalogue.
The wedding season is finally here,
Merry making in our books of accounts, at last!”
Manoj, looked up from his mid-day daze,
In some world, beyond those dreamy gaze,
He was still with Phula3 — his beloved wife —
who had the night before abandoned him and left.
"Saar, what make is the groom’s car?
A Honda, TATA, or Wagon R?
See, these marigold flowers will look grand,
Make your son look like a plilim star!"
"Manoj, I do not find satisfaction with you,
My soul yearns, what your body cannot give.
You are too down with handia4, and beer,
Intoxicated, you languish, on some distant land."
"Pardon me saar, did you mention gladioli?”
Manoj suddenly bolted back to reality
“My wife loved those,
along with marigold and lily!”
"Manoj! What has gone into you?
You are so absent minded!
Did you again beat up your wife?
Was it another episode of a sporadic fight?"
Said the owner of the shop,
as another customer turned away.
Unable to make much of what
Manoj had to say.
But what could he say?
Amidst those flowers,
He stood and stared
Phula had abandoned him and left.
2. AG Square in Bhubaneswar is one of the busiest commercial hubs, and a nodal junction. It houses important government buildings and is also lined with a series of florists, who have been selling here since decades.
3. Phula, Odia for ‘flower’, is the name of the Florist’s wife.
4. Handia is a liquor made of fermented rice, and is had across most villages of East India. It also has religious significance for some communities in the region.
Masala Chai
The masala chai that you make
Harbours an aroma of divine bliss
It awakens me out of the bed,
And walks me into the dreary day ahead
With a burst of energy from the atoms of saccharine and caffein
May be it is not just these, but a bit of you as well
The spices mysterious to me,
Those that you compose to concoct the brew
That pushes the last wink of sleep out of my eyes
The day wears itself out and night falls
As the dust of work settles on the dew of the cold night
I like to come back home, and to crash into the bed
Looking forward to the rigmarole of daily chores
But maybe, more-so to have a taste of your masala chai,
And of waking up next to you, and your cup of the morning brew.
These poems were part of The Poetry Issue 2023, curated by Shireen Quadri. © The Punch Magazine. No part of these should be reproduced anywhere without the prior permission of The Punch Magazine.
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