A Poem and Some Prose
Mutton Bhakri
Workers frustrated with their bosses
Alcoholic husbands
He who will have his first drink
I do not judge. I welcome all.
The Jain who has developed a taste for chicken lollypop
The brahmin who loves mutton rassa
The student whose mom has warned him – today is Tuesday
I serve without reservation.
The criminal who sits beside the policeman
The farmer, who sits on the table behind the saheb
The ‘decent’ middle-class man brings his unemployed friend
I equalize.
I provide the habitual his relief.
I provide the occasional his celebration.
I slake the trucker and the traveller of their hunger and thirst.
I am the bar on the highway.
I am the ‘basuya’ outside the city.
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Letters
When one writes a letter, a bit of one’s soul transfers from the vein into the ink to blot the paper. This piece of soul, torn asunder by the emotions which make one write the letter pollutes the paper, more and more with each letter, word, sentence. And this polluted piece of paper then starts smelling. A retributive letter smells red, a lusty letter smells purple. A letter of help smells green, and an invitation smells pink. A letter smells blue when the piece of soul in it is full of sadness, and it smells yellow when the ink is happy. And this smelly letter envelops the receiver’s senses when she rips open the envelope and crackles the letter as it is opened. The soul seizes the mind and engulfs it, pulling her into the paper. She tastes every comma and takes a breath. She tastes every "I" as "Us". She tastes the saltiness of the tears in every full stop. The words and letters and the blotched paper consume the reader, until she is no different from the writer, and unconsciously, the souls merge. The letter is a powerful tool. One must write with caution.
I went through both a poem and a prose. Your poem is unconventional in style, yet highlights the reality of how common places can be closer to our heart. They can be more democratic and accommodative in terms all casts and subcaste. A tabbo to some communities, yet they love being there.. so, mutton bhakti is beyond the ordinary food and serves as the comforter to many. Long and short lines are significant. Short lines are more metaphorical . It has a perfect ending as it's abruptness is meaningful.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much. I was inspired by such a place when I recently visited Ahmednagar. Now the place is pretty much 'a part of the city', but my uncle told me how once it was in the outskirts. And I realized every city/town has such a place.
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