home
i. kochi
vendors call out. sweet humidity floats around us,
dreamlike, intoxicating.
the docks look like a fun place to fall in love.
fried fish melting on pink tongues.
stray dogs playing in the streets,
young children gripping their mothers’ saris as they stroll
the white and gold silk shimmers in the amber sunlight.
cold lassi in my hand and kulfi in your mouth,
sweet, tingly.
chinese fishing nets framed by the sun melting into the sea
coconut water is good for the soul.
ii. bangalore
star-shaped lanterns hanging on balconies above us,
young children in uniforms boarding crowded buses,
bustling, calm chaos.
sandy playgrounds and table tennis.
amamma’s beef cutlets spattering in their oily glory,
my apappa’s observations and tattered family albums.
noisy firecrackers and pure celebration keep me up at night.
earbuds everywhere,
falling out of the ears of young businessmen lost in their music in the corner of the chai stall
its cardamom and spice sting our nostrils as we pass.
damp cotton saris flapping in the wind as they dry on porch rails.
sputtering rickshaws and toothy grins
from children piled on the back of their father’s dusty Vespa.
country life never suited me anyway.
iii.munnar
rolling hills the color of emeralds,
i’ve never seen my grandfather so content.
tea harvesters with kind smiles wave as cars pass by
thick fog floating across the valley
small cottages overlooking a sea of green.
the hill station where they first met.
god’s own country,
the postcard was right.
Author’s commentary
“This piece illustrates the peaceful chaos and nostalgia of my Indian homeland.”