3 Sonnets for Calcutta
Saturday morning and the dark friend calls,
“Synchronize my story of extra-class in school today.
Snub-nose and Shorty has confirmed Globe stalls.
BCs are strict about this one, though. it’s an A.”
Hankies on mouth, the suspense builds
On toes to add height, to lust at Brooke Shields.
Post movie celebration, hands rubbing in glee
The neo-adults munch Nizam beef rolls for 75p.
Walk back home. Every time. But now there’s no home.
The course of life unties the chain,
Snatches the rear-view mirror from Mad Rain
Dry tubewells dot the streets where memories roam.
Rowers pull on placid waters and coxswains shout abuse
At the ruthless plan that crushed the house with bougainvillea views.
The 3 o’ clock sun sprinkled on grass
Smiled at Mad Rain’s spiked boots and cotton socks
(Held up with rubber band, utterly middle-class)
Like an old friend. A greeting, no small-talks,
Was enough to get them going. Like two tinkles of the tram bell,
Or on the first beat of the dhak, the hypnotic spell,
Fused their souls in soccer dance
Till the lake lost its luminance.
Unsullied by globalisation, and the stomach lined
To withstand germs-
One knew the Phuchkawala and could negotiate terms,
But severely infected with culture of the low-kind.
The bearded intellectuals and rebellious poets
Caused a reactionary fascination for Kishore Lata duets.
Saturday morning and the dark friend calls,
“Synchronize my story of extra-class in school today.
Snub-nose and Shorty has confirmed Globe stalls.
BCs are strict about this one, though. it’s an A.”
Hankies on mouth, the suspense builds
On toes to add height, to lust at Brooke Shields.
Post movie celebration, hands rubbing in glee
The neo-adults munch Nizam beef rolls for 75p.
Walk back home. Every time. But now there’s no home.
The course of life unties the chain,
Snatches the rear-view mirror from Mad Rain
Dry tubewells dot the streets where memories roam.
Rowers pull on placid waters and coxswains shout abuse
At the ruthless plan that crushed the house with bougainvillea views.
Flashback to ’78 the year of Mad Rain
In the city. Neck deep water on Rustomji Street.
Jigsaw of unconnected dots, a montage in the brain
Racing on the Bypass in night heat.
Tetrazzini in Skyroom, love in the cemetery
A cold ICU where words are not necessary
Summer pool party, freshly mown grass
Fish fries in weddings, St. Paul’s mass.
Just vague dull aches. Many Octobers later then…
In Mocambo for Fish au gratin.
A familiar voice, ‘Hey, where have you been?’
Jolted the heart in high voltage, pleasurable pain.
Whispered the city, I will wait for you like ever before
You choose your seas and I’ll be your shore.
In the city. Neck deep water on Rustomji Street.
Jigsaw of unconnected dots, a montage in the brain
Racing on the Bypass in night heat.
Tetrazzini in Skyroom, love in the cemetery
A cold ICU where words are not necessary
Summer pool party, freshly mown grass
Fish fries in weddings, St. Paul’s mass.
Just vague dull aches. Many Octobers later then…
In Mocambo for Fish au gratin.
A familiar voice, ‘Hey, where have you been?’
Jolted the heart in high voltage, pleasurable pain.
Whispered the city, I will wait for you like ever before
You choose your seas and I’ll be your shore.
