New Grief

When Amma died,
I became numb.
Now,
this new grief awakens me,
jerks me alive
like I have seen doctors do on TV
with two iron box–like things
shocking their patient’s hearts into beating again.

Is it wrong to say
I have never felt so much grief before?
Even more than what I felt for Amma?

Guilt gnaws at my heart,
but it’s true.
Maybe because Ganeshan has no one
to love him and care for him
the way Amma had.
Only a silly old man
claiming to be his carer.

Worried

My mind is like a sieve,
everything passes through it.
All it can hold
are the chunky, heavy thoughts
about Ganeshan.
Is he okay?
Was a doctor called in?
Is Chandu taking good care of him?

Last Day of School

The last few weeks drift by
in a blurry waste of time.
And the final exams are but a disaster.
I have a new worry to add to my list now.
My school report!

The class teacher hands out everyone’s reports.
I chew on a nail.
What if I don’t make it to next year?
I quickly scan the report
for any huge red letters across it
and let out a huge sigh.
I passed!

Trrriiiinnnggg …
There’s a shout of Yaaaayyy!
even before the bell stops ringing.
And I am caught in a sea of Happy holidays!,
See you in eighth grade!
and Have a fab summer break!

I navigate through it all
and rush out
to the waiting school bus
so that I can be with my thoughts
alone
again.

Summer Holidays

Glorious
l o n g
days of nothingness.
Before.

Now
they are just
l o n g
days of nothingness.

Celebrations and Mourning

It’s April and Vishu,
the new year today.
I wear my yellow skirt again.
It hangs above my ankles now.
But I don’t want to
let go of it
yet.

At the temple ground,
the konna tree stands as bare as a Kerala bride
without her jewels.
The yellow flowers picked,
no doubt for Vishu Kanni,
the first auspicious glimpse of the day,
in the hope that the rest of the year
would be as lovely and golden
as the flowers offered at the altar.

Acha and I, we
don’t celebrate Vishu,
don’t burst crackers,
don’t cook a feast.
Not even the vermicelli payasam
both of us love.

People say
“one year” of mourning.
My heart says
it will mourn forever.

Temple Elephant

Everyone calls Ganeshan
the temple elephant now.
They say the owner donated him
to the temple.

The whole town is glad
because it’s a matter of pride
to own an elephant
and not have to rent one
anymore.
I am glad
because I can see him
every day now.

Born Again

Amma used to say
that souls get born and reborn.
Again and again.
I am not sure I believe
completely in rebirths.
But maybe it’s true.
Maybe
Ganeshan was my brother or father,
sister or mother,
or even a close friend
in my last birth
because I feel like I already know him,
already love him,
like his pain is mine
his story is mine.

How else can I explain
the instant bond I feel with him?

Quiet Company

As soon as I hear
that he is ours now,
I rush over to see him.

He greets me with his trunk,
stroking me from head to toe
till I push it away, laughing.
Feeling better, my friend?

He replies with a rumble,
a deep sound
from somewhere inside his tummy.
Kind of like my neighbour’s cat purring,
but much louder.

Snuggling by his neck,
I feed him the bananas
I bring from home,
enjoying his quiet company
like I hope he enjoys mine.

Sunshine

Meeting Ganeshan
is like a knock
on the door of my heart.
Gently inviting me outside
to feel the sunshine again.
My heart squints
at the brightness.
But
I am not scared.
I am not alone.
Anymore.

Curiosity

People are strange.
When they don’t understand others
they probe and prod them.
Often roughly, unkindly,
like lab animals in cages.

People prod me
with cruel words.
But Ganeshan, poor Ganeshan
gets prodded
with nasty, pointy sticks.

Excerpted with permission from If Elephants Could Talk, Ranjeeta Raam, Hachette India.