In Madurai,
where we grew up,
the summer vacation
would never come to an end
without our visit to
the annual fair.

It was around this time
the legendary temple festival
happened and the deity went on
a procession on the Vaigai river.

The big, crunchy snow-white papad
smeared with chilli powder
and tiny oil droplets,

the magic mirrors which distorted
our images in a ludicrous manner,

and the plastic ball that spun
perpetually in the fountain,

made us linger without
being conscious of
how time passed that evening.

We would return home
with pencil boxes,
colorful hair clips
for my sisters,
and a toy steam boat
for me.

That night I wouldn't sleep
thinking of the boat
harbored on the shelf.

I would dream of lakes and boats
and wake up suddenly
at the crack of dawn
and head to the backyard to
make my boat sail
with a puttering sound
in a tub of water.


Now, after so many years,
on some afternoons,
when everyone is fast asleep,
and the only sound is
that of the clock,

I find myself
toying with an idea and
walk up to the table
to write a poem about
my boyhood and boats-

voyaging back in time.

Next Poem: ......................................................................................................................................Back to Poetry Index