Rituals
Rituals
Morning
There had been beautiful autumn mornings
When waking up from dreamy childhood slumber hearing my father’s radio
Blaring ‘pratyahiki’ had been a routine thing,
Then going out to the backyard
Right there where mother stood under that shiuli tree
Collecting tiny starlets of white flowers,
I got drenched in dew
And the mist of autumn would drape me.
Evening
Evenings at our little abode at that riverside town
Had curious visitors – The traveling cake seller with a huge black tin box on his head
Had been like the pied piper,
Mythical, alluring,
Then there was the jhalmuri wallah,
His practiced-hand could conjure up lip-smacking puffed rice bowl,
After that man from South
Selling dosa.
My mother’s lighting up of diya
Always brought that mixture of varied fragrance – of incense sticks, camphor.
Now after so many years,
Getting into the folds of my semi-urban existence,
I still hanker after those little things in the evenings.
Afternoons
Drawing pencils
Paper planes, comic strips, chocolate Ice-creams,
And …. that beautiful girl in a red tunic.