Childhood brushes past,
Teenage tempts the soul,
Voices with laborious words
Skim the temper of spicy
papad rolled out on terraces by
Bright red rajasthani motifs
Around the narrow isles,
I weigh the kheer in my palm:
The rasamalai’s whiteness melts
In the white saree of my widowed aunt
Hovering over the saffron
Choosing the box from the box
kept near the cashier
I pay my way out into the chilly winter afternoon.
(Pic: Wikimedia Commons)
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