My Dear June

My dear June

much has changed

these past few years.

Time and again you remind me

how distant I’ve turned out to be

We once dreamt of sitting

By the river Thames

discussing  the futility of life.

Those plans of walking down Mount Fuji

On a Sakura season

glimmering with cherry blossom
embracing the absurdities of life

No matter how distorted it maybe.

You now complain

About the way I view my life,

Gathering facts and being rational.

I still remember that night

I wrote you that poem

"Rationality walking miles behind".

I felt so accused and embittered

That you so casually told me

ive changed and my choices refined.

I have become

More like the amaltas

Of the scorching Delhi,

Blooming at a 45degree temperature

Yet not able to leave the spectators

With a sigh of relief.

Soon these amaltas will wither off

And perish in the coming time

Like all living things

For, autumn will seep in

And winter shall follow up.

You see June,

The cycle of life has taken its toll on me

I’ve got early morning chores to catch up

Followed by a routine check up  

Of Suri, my miserable little kitten.

These days I lay on my bed

Immersed in folklores of my town

I think about the lovely union

 Of our majestic river Teesta and Rangit.

Embracing each other at Triveni

And flowing together towards the Bay of Bengal

After a tumultuous wreck of separation.

It provides me a certain solace  

To sing the song of mighty Kanchenjunga,

Being able to wake up early morning

Glancing at the majestic cotton clouds

shoving its way through my bedroom window.

But how can I explain it to you?

The emptiness, the longing, the familiar faces,

The rants of my neighbour,

The crystal clarity of these mountains,  

And my local cabbie guy ‘kancha’  

Standing at my doorway

Grinning with his beetle stained teeth.

Ready to be at our service.

You still dream of big cities and glass hallways

And visit home  once or twice a year.

However, I want to live with my town-girls

And be like your mothers friends

Who sit for hours at the local tea shop.

And juggle errands like life is

A brewing pot of coffee

Happily offered to passerby.

Every time you come home June,

I want to welcome you with my arms wide open,

Bring you your favourite  cookies

Listening to your tales of adventure

and never ever envy you.

I met your father the other day,

He always misses your presence

I also met your mother the other day,

She misses having you around

Longing for you to take over

That hard toiled business set up

She has it over a decade.

While you,

You still want to stay there

Writing that novel of yours;

Which no one will ever read.

At times,

I feel extremely lonely

Because people say things;

That the town has nothing to offer

And how a change of setting can renew one’s life.

At times like these,

I call upon our local cabbie guy ‘kancha ‘

And sit in his cab with the fellow co-passengers -

Listening to the parables of love

And struggles of our home folks.

They never fail to put a smile on my face

At times like these,

I feel so invigorated
they always have new things to say.

I visit my ailing grandfather

And listen to his tales of the early times .     

Looking at my grandma’s hand spun straw shoes

Grandpa proudly tells me

How my late grandma in those times

Was the first woman

To take matters to a local panchayat body

In order to fight for her right.

My grandfather has become the

philosopher friend of my life

Unknowingly filling the void

Of my escalating heart many times.

Especially, When I think of myself more

Than the world around me.

Last  Saturday ,

I took a merry go round

To the local tourist viewpoint

And watched in silence

As the guide vociferously talked about the British Raj.

Of the 1940’s and the repercussions

Faced by my townsfolk

It reminded me of what my grandmother once told me -

“back then, locals carried British man on their back”,

I suddenly remembered
“Our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry”.

My dear June,

I have driven miles and miles

And there are miles and miles to go

Before I sleep.

Now if you excuse me for a moment,

I have to go and fix the constant rattle

Of the adjoining door.