Anhad ka Baaja

When Chithappa died I did not cry Grieve the dead, we must But enjoy the lives of the living, too What is gone is the body What is gone is the soul What remains are memories Pleasant (And

Sitting on Hippo Rock I see below me In the valley A chequerboard of greens That glistening green is Potti's paddy field Yet to be harvested Potti, the rough diamond With whom we had Our first fight

When we have children We want to Well Bring them up well We have to be aware, though, that They are Not clay to be moulded into pots Nor pots to be filled by us Think of Gardens to be tended

I wear my privilege On me Like an endi shawl Wrapped tightly About my shoulders To keep out the cold But just as An endi shawl Can wrap itself around And warm More than one person I find that I can

Flipping through the pages of An alumni magazine I bumped into (Admittedly electronically) A co-author And found him to be An old friend Oi Birdie Hey Svai The shouts rang out (Admittedly

When I was six or seven I used to walk From home Sargent House on Barrow Road To school, a few buildings away J J Montessori In a barsati of Red Shield House The Salvation Army Building On