I will put in the box

 

I will put in the box 

Not just one, instead a stack, shiny, clever 

of tiffin boxes, tightly clipped 

and first 

that all-pervading everywhere aroma

woodsmoke, spices, dust

Indian essence

with blare and startle of horns and high-pitched peep

in and out auto, car, overloaded motorbike and bus, 

wandering cow, munching 

new road, three lanes, no rules apply, weave/wander 

for gods sake stay alert! 

Lime-green paddy waterlogged 

houses in pink/ magenta/ turquoise, saris red and orange and yellow 

flowers in your hair 

here the hottest hues 

no beige, no bland. 

Like the past, another country 

they do things differently here 

although WhatsApp calls and Selfie! One more Selfie! 

could fool you otherwise..

Noise and sweat and dust, crows at full volume 

long wail of the train passing, over the points, over the points, 

all filling the tiffin boxes, magical 

between the sambas, rassam, rice and dhal, chapatti, dhosi, lentil cakes and idli, curd, 

and special pyassam, warm milk with cashews, raisins, sweet treat. 

All this is India, my India 

plus  mingled memories, the years of coming, from forty two to seventy five 

mum to granny, 

our friends once schoolboys fathers now and proud 

scraping a living somehow, though ‘India small money ma’am’ 

but no tiffin tower, however tall, could hold it all 

the light in their eyes, the smiles and the laughter 

the namastes and hugs across the years and many miles 

culture and language no barrier, not separated 

nothing between us except love.

21st January 2024 Guest House Ruhsa