by Indu Parvathi
Baggage carousals in airports carry more than travel cases:
Fragrant clumps of earth, soaked with season’s first shower
Whispering country streams and sprightly small towns
Smoky wood fire and rotis laced with ringing laughter …
and much more, hiding within pickle bottles and the like.
Once upon a time lands, distance and then memory dust.
But at times, the sparkling specks become water beads,
squishy jelly bits, plastic reminders of a heaving country.
The frosted dome of a temple brooding amidst spires,
Crimson rivulets of flavours charging along bland planes,
Typhoons of bhangra dancers swirling through bemused lanes,
Yoga, bejeweled bindis, beseeching ghazal showers…
Choices. To engage, to disengage, to drape, to undrape.
A country that’s a chain and a garb. In each transporter,
lies buried a tedious land that bloats, a numb black hole.
And they know – in an almost heaven, rulebooks are a must.
Pic: https://www.flickr.com/photos/
