The Mozamjahi Bazaar Clock Tower

-
The hustle-bustle and hush-rush;
traffic lights blinking
and city lights, blinding

but... shhhh...
close your eyes 
listen to the dong
at the Mozamjahi clock tower -- 
any hour, short or long

at the Salarjung museum,
you'd be decked in your best
here,
wander at the Karachi bakery,
jostle with the traffic; 

at the Mozamjahi bazaar,
you rest

the bazaar that once sold
attar, pans, groceries,
hookahs and fruit
Is now a nest of ice cream
made of dry fruits

close your eyes and be swooned
once at one o clock
twice at two o clock
and 12 times at twelve o' am or noon

PC: Live iconic


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Humra Bihar Mein (Poem, Transliteration-Translation)

-
Image
The song Humra Bihar Mein moved me and I took the help of my fellow poet, Shekhar Jha, to understand the poem and write this. So thank you, Shekhar Jha.  The song is from the series Bihar Chapter: Khakee which focuses on a true crime by Mahto in 1998. The story focuses on many aspects that make a criminal: caste politics, personal anguish etc. And this poem is a voice of the same. I believe that we can, in our own way, be kind and good to each other and let every one feel that we are different but the same.  Poem :  On the land of Buddha Are farmed guns Once the children of peace Now our rights are seized Even a child cannot dare To miss a bullet’s stare   We will shoot you directly in the head No one across districts can question me about the dead Dare you stare at me Like I am a double-barreled gun We are all insane stripped out of basics, I am not the only one ** Transliteration-Translation: Buddha ki dharti ki parti Par ugal raha bando...
Read more

Ammamma

-
Image
Ammamma. The word itself evokes memories for us. Her passing is the passing of a part of our childhood which we (my cousins and I) cherish. This is a piece for her. Ammamma is a telugu word to address mom's mom.  Ammamma lived in Chikkadpally, an area in the older part of Hyderabad, in one of those houses with multiple door entries, many windows in every room, and washroom that’s outside the house. Like Ammamma, the house was open, warm and welcoming. Anyone (whom we know ofcourse) could come inside and stay there as long as they wanted to. This was the 90s and perhaps due to the times we lived in, people were trusting of each other, children grew up in multiple households (grandparents’, aunts’, uncles’..). In our household, while there was emphasis on studies, there was emphasis on having fun too – be it watching movies, playing in the gully, studying and going to tuition together, or watching the Sunday Jungle Book together. Ammamma played a pivotal role in taking us to movi...
Read more

My Tomboyish Mother

-
Context: This poem is written for my mother who is a tomboy. As a child, it baffled me to see her demeanour versus the coy aunties I knew. But as I grew up, I realise that her presence, though strong, moulded my life in unique ways.  Poem: She is a marigold, an unlikely flower to be loved. Unlike a rose or a carnation that hoards our senses.  a marigold has a chunky shape with its petals tightly meshed But no rose would adorn the door like the marigold.  which in times of need is like the truth and statements, bold She is a marigold: beautiful. unique, strong  Leading an unabashed life,  crafting her own right and wrong She is a marigold. She is my tomboyish mother.
Read more