Sneaking through towns and rivers,
with every chat and every scenes
the grey pebble in Imphal turel
lurk around and
Whisper to me
of childhood memories
of that lemon leaf in my diary
of evening games in the lampak
of mother's voice with twig in her hand
of the bushes on the river bank
where syringes are scattered
of the potfam of abokmu
where she prepares singju for us
of taji's erratic yelling
for playing in his lampak
of the scarlet jamines
which we used as prizes for the race
of which juice we sucked
and threw at the khongban
of thaja and how she plucked
and stole this rare flower daton got from Ukhrul
of puspi and how she hit me on my ankle with a stone
of the marbles, kokpik and kokchao, tenjei, kotis and all
of the sounds mixed with bombs and festival crackers,
guns and tyre blast
of dipping in the river with our shirts on
and lying one the waves with our eyes closed
the water slipping beneath us
of iche sanatombi being dragged by the erei
and the laugh we had afterwards
I heard she got married but divorced now.
of cheton with whom we hanged out after school
whose sexuality was gossiped by the leikai
whose perseverance let kebisana finish graduation
who won medals after medals
couple of years back
She died of both kidney failure
My grandma too, of old age
she defecated like hell and ate nothing
her eyes rolled up, my hands on hers
I felt the fading warmth
leaving her ice old
those tubes on her nose and elsewhere
strangling and suffocating her
when she was near death
and me, sitting by her side
holding both my breath and tears
father had told me not to make sounds
in the hospital
he broke down at home, wailed once
near her body which lay on her bed silently
and then there is my cousin too
who had a stroke at 40 and died slowly at dawn
sleeping beside his 13 year old son
in a hotel room in mayangland
He and his wife, nanama, had come to drop me off
at the airport when i was leaving for hyd
they had packed a packet of ngari for me
sister called me up in the morning and broke the news
i cried, he consoled, i pretended, i went for the class red-eyed
i came back and cried again alone
by the time i went home
i had missed everything
except for my sister and her cancer
and the radiation therapy
her hairs falling out, searching for wigs,
buying it and going for echemubi's wedding together
my sister's poems,
my sister's china's stories,
my bother's love stories
my ma's and ba's comforting home.
with every chat and every scenes
the grey pebble in Imphal turel
lurk around and
Whisper to me
of childhood memories
of that lemon leaf in my diary
of evening games in the lampak
of mother's voice with twig in her hand
of the bushes on the river bank
where syringes are scattered
of the potfam of abokmu
where she prepares singju for us
of taji's erratic yelling
for playing in his lampak
of the scarlet jamines
which we used as prizes for the race
of which juice we sucked
and threw at the khongban
of thaja and how she plucked
and stole this rare flower daton got from Ukhrul
of puspi and how she hit me on my ankle with a stone
of the marbles, kokpik and kokchao, tenjei, kotis and all
of the sounds mixed with bombs and festival crackers,
guns and tyre blast
of dipping in the river with our shirts on
and lying one the waves with our eyes closed
the water slipping beneath us
of iche sanatombi being dragged by the erei
and the laugh we had afterwards
I heard she got married but divorced now.
of cheton with whom we hanged out after school
whose sexuality was gossiped by the leikai
whose perseverance let kebisana finish graduation
who won medals after medals
couple of years back
She died of both kidney failure
My grandma too, of old age
she defecated like hell and ate nothing
her eyes rolled up, my hands on hers
I felt the fading warmth
leaving her ice old
those tubes on her nose and elsewhere
strangling and suffocating her
when she was near death
and me, sitting by her side
holding both my breath and tears
father had told me not to make sounds
in the hospital
he broke down at home, wailed once
near her body which lay on her bed silently
and then there is my cousin too
who had a stroke at 40 and died slowly at dawn
sleeping beside his 13 year old son
in a hotel room in mayangland
He and his wife, nanama, had come to drop me off
at the airport when i was leaving for hyd
they had packed a packet of ngari for me
sister called me up in the morning and broke the news
i cried, he consoled, i pretended, i went for the class red-eyed
i came back and cried again alone
by the time i went home
i had missed everything
except for my sister and her cancer
and the radiation therapy
her hairs falling out, searching for wigs,
buying it and going for echemubi's wedding together
my sister's poems,
my sister's china's stories,
my bother's love stories
my ma's and ba's comforting home.
