Remember the time
You danced fearlessly
On top of broken green bottle glass—
You thought you saw God, there,
Reflected in the green glass.
There was light-light everywhere.
Once upon a time,
We looked for God.
Mornings, we climbed out of rickshaws;
We cooled off at the temple, where
The priest spilled water onto open palms.
We skipped to school with a piece of dried coconut;
India is my country. All Indians are my
Brothers and sisters.
We sat on swings, ate from tiffins.
We reined from plastic towers,
And from ships without oceans.
We jumped off spinning Merry-go-rounds.
Evenings, we played until the air got dark,
And we heard our mothers’ voices.
In Monsoon, we made paper boats
With our parents’ rubbish; they smiled.
We waved our boats through brown water
Till they sank.
In the monochrome schools, sitting
On those wooden benches, taking
Those dreadful exams with those hideous girls
In grey uniforms and grey ribbons,
I thought I would die.
And when you were young,
This boy you knew from class, he chased you,
Pinned you, and sprayed colored water in your ears;
You tumbled together in the dust—
Which of you knew then
That adulthood would hold this for us?
We went out on bicycles
And bought two chocobars,
And ate them together.
You are no companion—
You are hued, my love, Meera. Eve,
Has your Krishna come and colored you?
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‘They are coming to see you at seven.
‘Can you please be normal? Can you please act
‘Normal? Don’t tell him you read that rubbish.
‘Are you listening? Why are you like this?’
The Young Man arrives
We retire to a room,
And use the formal ‘You’.
Questions are met with nods,
And with nervous whispers
Through which I can hear the hums
Of my pagan past. He donates
A tight-lipped smile. And then leaves
In a hurry with the yolk of his family.
The house recollects what is left of the evening:
Dewed glasses of half-drunk Rooh Afza
And tea saucers with half-moon milk skins.
I am a disintegrated woman—genes and genitals,
An outwardly perfected countenance.
‘They are coming to see you at seven.
‘Can you please be normal? Can you please act
‘Normal? Can you at least comb your hair?’
Young Man 2 arrives
Carbuncular carbuncular carbuncular
There is something deep within that throbs,
Squirts juice. When the body threatens to rip
Itself apart, the soul screeches
And there is a sweet and desperate
Cry for God, hot blue terror, a stain—
The heart rips open and sees God.
‘They are coming to see you at seven.
‘Hold still, please. Hold still. Will you stop moving?’
Young Man 3 arrives, Sweeney erect
Already erect…
Ready to impress
The soul screams,
The body remains limp--a dressed up party doll,
Head full of trash.
‘They are coming to see you at seven.
‘Please comb hair. Why have you got circles under your eyes?’
When it is night, then I can think,
I do think (I am capable of doing so);
I think I am going nowhere.
Young Man 4 arrives,
With rubber bands like garters on top of mismatched socks,
A mathematician, the mutant type, a fragmented mind
He gives me a two. Is equal to two.
At the violent hour, I stood (back straight)
Before the half-naked population of people
Bathing shamelessly in the water
That once beheld the glorious body of Krishna.
These people, my people abundant—
There is no shantih here, there are arms
And many heads, heads like cockroaches
Convulsing in the river,
Heads growing, multiplying, producing
Infestations. The hills where the gods reside have no such smells
Of divine perfumes but reek with the smell of lost human shoes.
Will the real gods please stand up?
On the shores of Jamuna, I stood erect alone
And waited for the Spiritus Mundi.