by Shraddha Vinod Kutty
[box]An expression of the complicated relationship that the “mainland” shares with the north-east, sparked off when Ngo te kher – a bracelet of beads – travelled to the mainland and found itself a place, first at a mela and then on the wrists of a few tens. A poem by Shraddha Vinod Kutty.[/box]Beads-on-a-string is a metaphor,
An ideal, a drumbeat, a lighted camphor!
The string must be strong,
Life of beads it must prolong,
Or so they sing, marching a furlong.
I am the bead,
I am being keyed.
I am the drum,
I am being strum.
I am the camphor,
Opened to tamper.
(Or was I that metaphor,
Built to fill the coffer?)
I am still a riddle,
Forced to look ideal.
The string was strong,
But oh, not so long.
Thread of white, thin and taut,
A tiny circle, quick firm knot,
Around this wrist, not one that fought.
Shraddha Vinod Kutty is ‘studying’ Development (or underdevelopment, depending on your perspective), through the lens provided by the city of contradictions, Mumbai. Coming from a small town in Kerala, she loves her mother’s sambhar-choru-pappadam. When not enjoying her sound sleep, you will find her listening to jazz, reading or writing. One who prefers to be left alone, her abiding fantasy is to be able to meet Rodya Romanovich Raskolnikov.
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