I Am My Relations

I am my relations

I come from
My burdens
My obligations
My responsibilities
And identities
That cage me

I come from
My desires
My needs
My aspirations
And incompletions
That fail me

I come from
My connections
And disconnections too

I come from
In me
Within me
Out me
And Other me

I come
From
The womb
The blood
And the soul
That embody me

I come from
The name
Of the family
And the caste
That birthed me

I come from
My neighbourhood
The smells and sights
The senses and noises
That shaped me

I come from
My work
My titles
My power
And the seats
That feed my ego

I come from
The streets of my childhood
The memories of my past
The food that I feed
And the body that I call mine

I come from
The grass
The flowers
And thorns
That nurture me

I, we, us
Aren't we one
Us, we, I
We are one

In oneness,
I am enough

Nostalgia

In a disturbed early morning slumber

a brewing desire 

and then it came

Nostalgia.

It's sweet fragrance

wafting into my senses

the pleasure of pain

from a time in childhood.

My senses beckoned me

I sought it out today

the familiar taste

Yum. Lemon rice it was.

The just crisped onions

the almost friend peanuts

the sweet tingling lime

simmered in a yellowed rice

ah! The lemon rice from my childhood.

It was a Sunday ritual

from our favourite joint

It had no name

like most good places.

Just known by its owner

Ranganna, he was

A balding, paunchy man

with a busy smile.

A packet of the glorious yellow

with a stingy sprinkling 

of spicy chutney

perfect for a Sunday morning.

Most times it was dad

who made the trip,

on his rickety Bajaj

sometimes, inviting me to join him.

We could never have a full packet

for we had to share, 

learnt to share

knowing to stay within our means.

Sometimes mom sneaking her share

onto a our emptying plate. 

while we savoured every bite

of the delicious Lemon Rice.

It was that kind of memory today.

While I got the lemon rice

the experience of family

on a Sunday morning

sharing the ritual

was sorely missing.

Each could have a packet-ful

and more

and yet, I sat there alone

eating my fill, amongst strangers. 

Wishing, pleading, seeking

my childhood to come back 

just for a moment

just for a moment.

so I could fret and fume

that I had to share 

and yet find joy 

in the sharing.

A silent prayer 

gratitude

to my father

for this childhood memory.

A memory

that rekindles Nostalgia

known only to someone

that still seeks.