Three poems from the recent collection by Kavita Jindal (the wind in the trees, 2019). Reprinted with permission.
Patina
I have wrapped up the hurt
like a betel nut in a betel leaf
sugared it
tucked it under a stone
There’s no weeping to show for it
Under the stone
the sugar melts
runs red with betel juice
Stripping and polishing the core
Giving it patina
to be coveted
by a collector of antiques.
***
It was in May. The sky poured.
The day the gutters overflowed
I left Kotapuram Port.
Abandoned on the platform were black trunks
and tan suitcases
forsaken to their drenching while the porters huddled
under the whipped red awning.
The long brown train awaited the flutter
of the guard’s green flag
as with slick-wet hair, from the window I stared
at a shadow I thought was there.
Friends wrote after long silences to say they’d told you
I’d shed tears on a platform awash with water
Scraped on to the train and cried again.
It was too good not to repeat.
You were puzzled when you heard this
or that’s the version I received.
It wouldn’t have changed anything, you said
if you’d been there, if you’d spoken
It wouldn’t have erased the train timetable
or the date of leaving Kotapuram
If you’d said ‘best of luck in life, my friend’
or another farewell equally inane
I’d have lived exactly the life I have
it would all have panned out the same.
I would’ve left on the day the sky poured
the day the gutters overflowed
Even if you’d stood there
to say ‘Hello. Goodbye. I care.’
‘Tears?’ you’d asked, with perplexed brow
when the story was repeated
of rampant lightning and umbrellas twisted by the storm.
Of the face squelched to the streaky window.
‘Tears, for what purpose?’
There were pillars on the platform
Posters on the pillars, imploring us to
Stick No Bills
The yellow of the posters was shiny-succulent, water-lashed.
The pillars were white and round,
the sodden green flag was down,
the train slipped out, pulled away my stare,
away from the shadow I thought was there.
It was in May. The sky poured. The gutters overflowed.
I left Kotapuram behind. The trains ran on time.
***
The Category
Just call me post-post.
Post-modern
post-colonial
post-feminist
post-youthful.
Post-desi
post-library
post-newspaper
post-yummy.
Post-vegan
post-bees
post-wine
post-seeds.
Just call me post-post.
Kavita A Jindal is the author of the novel Manual For A Decent Life, winner of the Brighthorse Prize. She has published three poetry books: Patina,Raincheck Renewed and Raincheck Accepted.