roti aur aam ka achaar
Neelam Didi looped roti
with the movie playing in the portable TV-VCR
in the yellow-lit courtyard;
her name stretched into a straight line
calling for more roti
I tried to decrypt that distance
in a language alien to my mother tongue,
watched the TV with everyone
gaping at a man set on fire–
the orange
of fennel smoked oil from the mango pickle
trickled down my forearm
Neelam Didi wiped it
with a piece of roti, pinned down the pickle
for a slice of its flesh – tender, greener, darker
than the tattoo in her Dadima’s wrinkled forearm.
Footnotes:
roti – flat bread made of wheat
aur – and
aam ka achaar – mango pickle
Didi – elder sister
Dadima – paternal grandmother
–
G.Akila juggles poetry with work, home and others. Her poems have found place in online magazines, print anthologies and has also been presented at TEDx and literature festivals in India.
