the schoolteacher

dear Manju,
or man juju , the name you called yourself when you were 10
the princess from the himalayas
who sometimes visited our house in the guise of my sister
mostly when the refridgerator was loaded
who gulped down our offerings of coca cola and icecream
i was 9 and brother was 7.
and we were overwhelmed with the stories of snow and snow leopards
and black magic.

you loved football, arm wrestling and WWF
at 13 you became famous in school
when you said you wanted to be Prime minister
in your english composition.
do you still have your Bible
the one you won for "Best Allrounder"
(the front page i scribbled my name next to yours
and you bit me and i had to have a tetanus shot)

you taught us to pray
when papa was sick
and we knelt three times a day
for rosary . and brother always slept in between
for you insisted on reading all the pslams
you hated Paul, said he wasn't a feminisit
and then you buried yourself in Tolstoy
Shakespare, wordsworth
tHE PRUDE period
when you went by the book. all the rules of road.

your teenage was brutal.
because of your uncommon beauty
you were not allowed to play football with the boys
no more treeclimbing. no cycling
everyone fell in love with you
the young tution sir wrote plays with you in it
and after you joined the women in the fields for harvesting
toiling with the farmhands
you became the village diety

in college you learnt to fly
and to fall.
you broke every rule in the book
a communist
an atheist .
like oscar wilde's flute
you played every tune.
flippant.
somewhere around here
i lost my sister and gained a friend
We shared the same hostel room and souls

you didnt make it.
didn't become prime minister.
you didn't write any book.
but its nice to see you
in church sometimes.
its nice to see you all organised
and last weekend at the resort
i saw your student running upto you
and how you smiled on him
full of love
i am sure you will listen to him
accept him for all he is
nurture his dreams
never once breach his trust.

i am sure you will encourage them to question
every rule
but will still point out the right direction
for you had been searching all your life.
and i know you never grade children by test scores
for you have the magic
to see their souls.

i know
for you were my teacher all along

wind from dreams

last night i dreamt a windy dream

a cool night wind balloning from my
dreamy sleep.

stirring the bedspreads
and even my childrens night shirt a little

lifting the curtains even.

i am left with just snatches of my dream

but the wind was blowing so vividly.

that i can still feel pleasant mountain air

we were living in hills and valleys

and there were pretty wooden fences

my neighbours (from once upon a time)

were calling out

their faces happy though sleep-veiled

their tresses unruly

and the wind

carrying their happy voices to the valleys and behold

and i felt so light.

suddenly after so many months

standing there in the wind

and i remember

a sudden realisation when i woke up

i must be terrible unhappy otherwise

so angels, send me more windy dreams

make me smile in my sleep

ambition at 33

my ambition at 33
is not gandhi. not van gogh. but close.
is not to write poems. sweet like street blues jazz.
with an inner understanding so that i can write like solomon
about"vanities of vanities"

nowadays i am trying to be like a potted plant
dont laugh. honest. a tree, a creeper
an anthurium in the sun.
holding my one single flower like a prayer
be one of the paddy people. live in the marshes
and wet places.

my ambition at 33 is to learn to speak fluently
the language of flowers
beautiful fragrance. mute
straightforward conversation. flawless.
my tongue.a big purple flower.
honeyed, but not in your face
only bees and butterflies would listen

my ambition at 33
(sorry papa)
is to understand silence
listen. always. like the coconut palm.
learning to nod my head. in affirmation.
know that the taller you grow the more shade
you need to live behind.
learn to share my shadow.

to learn to stand up like garden plants.
always like life is too sacred to sit down
life is too passionate, too worthy of respect
that one cannot lie down , even for a second.

my ambition at 33 is to be a creeper, grow translucent twines
cling on to my near ones, grow into thier lives
hold on to bonds. lest i grow complacent.
to grow roots . deep inside into the soil thats my country
and hold together my family, my language and customs
my brethen.
to marinate in life's joys and sorrows. alike.