A humming word

Mother ambles in the living room of my flat: Left-to-right; Right-to-left.   My flat seems bigger.  I sit by my work-from-home makeshift desk (also my dining table). As she passes by, I watch her lips move but I gaze at my laptop. My resume half complete, I type, Experrrr..  I fidget with the keyboard for 10 seconds before I walk towards her. I ask, What is it?  She says, I am talking to your aunt and detailing the Kakarkaya recipe. I love it. I pause.. look around in my empty flat. I sigh.  Point towards the kitchen.  And pick out the vegetables for us.   ** Work from home   Bottle guard is now redolent  with my deceased aunty       Note: This is written for my dear friend, who now feels like a cousin, dearest Bala. His service to his friends and his family is unparalleled. 

  The dog limps in the lane; another chases it the roads are washed with last night’s rain   a scooter heaving with milk containers, passes by the rag pickers sieve garbage their child gapes at the navy blue sky

I too, sing India  There’s no caste mark smeared on my forehead But I am the one who sits outside your house When food is served; they serve it to me with dread In a throwaway plate. I have seen steel plates from afar. I smile, I laugh, and I uncover the manhole I too, am India. I am damp and soiled; I tie a scarf, and pop my head out of the manhole This is how I earn my bread. I too, am India.  Outside your house. In a corner of the street, Earning scorn and grouse. /For the uninitiated, I too, am America is a poem by Langston Hughes. The title and spirit of the poem is inspired by that./