#Aby

the annual fair
at our grandfather's village
Dinner at our maternal uncle's
outside its a carnival of candles
and coloured huge umbrellas with silver bells
the 30 temple drummers in white dhothis
and in between a band playing shocking bollywod music
an elephant
the church choir
all pretty girls in white veils singing from a tempo traveller
the old bearded priest cradling the cross
the glass bracelet sellers
and coloured sweetmeat
soh ! just the right place to buy a bed,sweet and tangy sugarcane juice
or even have your fortune told

inside
the kitchen, wet with memories
red oxide floor
round steel thalis
high wooden ceilings and the creaking fan
the fresh smell of hay
the soft sounds of sleeping cows
my sister and i drowning in a sea of relatives, all garish. Rich.
" how many kids?" " what does your husband do?"queries are so out of place
when one is mellow . a little limp.for one is back in a childhood haunt.

but this house. still an oasis.
now that we are in our thirties
we dont miss our grandparents much
and can come here more often without feeeling
that ache.this house were we were loved so much carresses us
. Opens out its stone arms like an embrace every time we come
.and we sit on a once favored window seat
and allow ourselves to be weighed.

and on a wooden bench at the little dinning room
just like he always sat Is Aby.
our mother's cousin.retarded,unschooled
now touching 40.
His hair tumbling on to his face
is salt and pepper.
otherwise he is just the same.
the same bruises on his knee
the same smile.the slurred speech.
same white shirt.

and he talks of how he chases his cows
off the just planted banana trees
and how his nephew got himself a car
he shows us the most recent bruise
when he fell off the mango tree.
The turtle in the well died some ten years back
that the new priest smokes like a chimney.

and outside the carnival rages on
and the night sky is galore with fireworks
its time for the church procession
and everyone is outside with lit laterns
but my sister and i
sit listening to Aby talk

we sit like how one huddles around a fire.
snuggled in old memories.