Looking for vegetables in Mayur Vihar market in the evening of all time and 5 other poems
Through ancestral currents, women navigate patriarchys grip, forging deep resilience and reclaiming…
Read more →Amidst the falling rain, a solitary wait unravels a lover's empty promises and hidden fears.
I hate to tell you
This is a one-sided affair.
You are waiting at the bus stop
Rain falling all around, in the grey of day
And he doesn’t turn up
For fear those tongues will wag.
Evenings, he is all sugar and honey
As he parts your future with bare hands
His forehead one with the clouds.
But when rain falls mid-day, he is nowhere to be seen.
You tell your companion, the one waiting
At another bus stop, in another city
Where it shines brightest when the day is reveling
On other days, only a dull grey
As if it’s about to rain
As if the sun has decided to stay away.
In both cases, he doesn’t turn up
And is busy elsewhere
At work, maybe with another loved one
And this brings no joy to your pretty lips
When you look at rouge in the mirror
For the hint of an answer.
You ask your friend with pleading eyes
If she has seen someone resembling him, darting past.
And your friend, the one in that foreign city
Has the same question for you.
She was told the precise time and hour
And she came on the dot, and it’s been two hours now
And usually it’s never like this.
She is worried something might have happened
For his phone, just like him
Is not reachable.
But there is a rainbow shining somewhere
When you decide to step out of your own shadow
And meet the future with open arms.
The one who doesn’t have any
Is also looking for someone to meet
Who is not expecting anything in return
At least, not yet.
Whose bag carries meaning in dried fruit and areca nut
And lots of tales about the future
As if he has already seen it.
As for the one who didn’t turn up, forget him
Just like the breeze that comes one night
And is never to be seen again.
He was not worth the trouble, and the likes of him come every day.
It’s just that you have to lasso your heart next time
Like a wandering spirit who likes to lark
Outside the familiar confines of the mind.
That is the most difficult thing, more than waiting for the bus
For someone who might – any time – step out
And ask, what the time is, or what you’ve been doing so long.
Note: ‘Abhisarika’ is Sanskrit for ‘the beloved one’; the one who goes out to meet her beloved.