Garments

Those were of the colour of Sandal paste
That quickly passes on to the eyes;
Their odour, that of an egg;
Their shoulder measure, reaching the elbow.

During the vacation, while in class VI,
Two of them step in silently with my father

They dressed me alternatively
As I flew to school
With the bundle of books and the mist.

Pegging them from sky to the earth
They covered my feet

From the hanging bridge to the waterfall
They kept dangling over.

That’s their declaration of non-cooperation.
Harkening to the slogans
Crouching from the tea-gardens,
I could hear the song of leaches
Under the Casuarina tree.

Children used to get into company
And separate their each thread
Dresses aptly robe themselves
With variegated colours
In keeping with the light

Now:
The star-seared building
Replaced the Casuarina trees.
A cascade flows over
Without those little fishes

Unfit for proper size,
Stiffened up
Pershing in the afternoon snooze
Swaying in the air
Garments get discarded
In old pillow cases.