Agarwal thathi
I.
In a tiny flat in New Panvel,
idlis are passed around,
a celebration of her passing.
'No lunch without oorga'
she insisted her bed ridden tongue
got the tangy smear, daily.
She fed with her hands, her sweat,
and her heart, stuffing growling stomachs
with kai murukku, cheedai, pakodaam and boondi.
Her identity strongly scented
with decoction kaapi, hing in her sambaar,
her pickled pulikachal took her across the seas.
II.
Evenings at Kesar Villa with granddaughters,
she coloured with her magenta kumkumam,
gifted jasmine gajras wrapped in leaf packets.
Heady fragrance of Mysore Sandal Soap mingled with chaafa, her colourful nine yards
with white blouses from Arvind Mills.
Potato chips in a square tin box
with occasional jam and khaari.
Nei paayasam on Fridays in Aadi Maasam.
Always, a flow of abundance,
but not for everyone.
III.
In her world, women got pregnant
when saree petticoats spoke
to langotis on the drying line.
Boiling water satisfied cravings,
of her tulsi plant that blossomed
out of its pot, as if on Viagra.
"Haavu!!" Uncles played striptease,
making themselves a little too comfortable.
What next, she would wonder.
She enjoyed these risqué escapades,
hands hiding her face, as laughter
and tears rolled down her cheeks.
IV.
Turned off the radio, mid-song,
as she spotted her husband
from the Akhila Kunj balcony.
Filled both of her son's pockets
with chana, to nibble on
as he left for work each day.
Slapped her daughter
who danced in a school performance
without asking her first.
Calls of "Labour pains have started, maami!"
she answered with hurried visits
all over Matunga.
Summoned to control the next-door
uncle's manic rage, she brought him down
with iron grip and steel gaze.
V.
Daughter of a straying school teacher,
blankets mimicked his profile
on the porch nocturnally.
Back home, she would scale
coconut trees by the night,
to dive into ponds of Koovapaddy.
As a new bride in Bombay,
she refused to shit in her first,
white tiled toilet.
When pregnancy fatigued her
she rested standing, leaning her head
against mattress stacks.
Chhota Thathi - bald, with hanging earlobes,
kept vigil on her daughter-in-law from her bed
in the room at the far end of the house.
I.
In a tiny flat in New Panvel,
idlis are passed around,
a celebration of her passing.
'No lunch without oorga'
she insisted her bed ridden tongue
got the tangy smear, daily.
She fed with her hands, her sweat,
and her heart, stuffing growling stomachs
with kai murukku, cheedai, pakodaam and boondi.
Her identity strongly scented
with decoction kaapi, hing in her sambaar,
her pickled pulikachal took her across the seas.
II.
Evenings at Kesar Villa with granddaughters,
she coloured with her magenta kumkumam,
gifted jasmine gajras wrapped in leaf packets.
Heady fragrance of Mysore Sandal Soap mingled with chaafa, her colourful nine yards
with white blouses from Arvind Mills.
Potato chips in a square tin box
with occasional jam and khaari.
Nei paayasam on Fridays in Aadi Maasam.
Always, a flow of abundance,
but not for everyone.
III.
In her world, women got pregnant
when saree petticoats spoke
to langotis on the drying line.
Boiling water satisfied cravings,
of her tulsi plant that blossomed
out of its pot, as if on Viagra.
"Haavu!!" Uncles played striptease,
making themselves a little too comfortable.
What next, she would wonder.
She enjoyed these risqué escapades,
hands hiding her face, as laughter
and tears rolled down her cheeks.
IV.
Turned off the radio, mid-song,
as she spotted her husband
from the Akhila Kunj balcony.
Filled both of her son's pockets
with chana, to nibble on
as he left for work each day.
Slapped her daughter
who danced in a school performance
without asking her first.
Calls of "Labour pains have started, maami!"
she answered with hurried visits
all over Matunga.
Summoned to control the next-door
uncle's manic rage, she brought him down
with iron grip and steel gaze.
V.
Daughter of a straying school teacher,
blankets mimicked his profile
on the porch nocturnally.
Back home, she would scale
coconut trees by the night,
to dive into ponds of Koovapaddy.
As a new bride in Bombay,
she refused to shit in her first,
white tiled toilet.
When pregnancy fatigued her
she rested standing, leaning her head
against mattress stacks.
Chhota Thathi - bald, with hanging earlobes,
kept vigil on her daughter-in-law from her bed
in the room at the far end of the house.
Glossary:
oorga: pickle
kai murukku: deep fried savoury snack (chaklis made with hand)
cheedai, pakodaam, boondi: deep fried savoury snacks
kaapi: coffee
hing: asafoetida
sambaar: Indian lentil soup
pulikachal: spicy, tangy sauce made of tamarind
kumkumam: powder used for social and religious markings in India
chaafa: champaca flower
gajras: flower garland
khaari: layered baked savoury snack, mostly not prepared at home.
Nei Paayasam: pudding made using clarified butter
Aadi Maasam: A month in the Tamil calendar
langoti: loincloth
tulsi: holy basil
Maami: a common usage to address a woman of acquaintance
chana: chickpea
chhota thathi: little grandmother.
Published in the Hong Kong based Voice and Verse Poetry Magazine, Issue 56: Home (November- December 2020)
https://vvpoetry.com/2020/11/07/issue-57-november-december-2020-special-feature-home
