She was walking, actually trying to, with her face high.
Her heels knock on the tiled walkway like thock thock thock.
Every boy looked at her as she showcase her swag by breaking her lean waist–
In an angular way and with shades guarding her eyes. She had a jasmine garland–
Rounding her little bun and wore a red sharee with a yellow border.
Oh man, you should see how pretty she was looking, my Memsahib.
She had taken a turn around the walkway to the hall where the Puja was going on;
That when she tumbled down entangling her feet in the pat bhanga* sharee.
“If you don’t know how to walk, then why wear sharee, not skirt….you idiot…” he said.
He was laughing with his friends as she hustles and bustle to get up.
Her friend helps her out. This doesn’t subdue her ego. She twirled her nose and–
Went away rather limp, expressing little pain taking mother’s name.
Purohit** declared Anjali*** will be on after a few minutes so e’one should gather.
He ran and fall on his face tangling his feet on the dhoti. He sat up and remain like that–
In bewilderment as everyone laughed at him. Memsahib came and scolds everyone.
Then she sat down beside her and said in her childish rounded speech–
“Pa says to my Dada, boy shouldn’t cry by falling, but, should get up to show e’one–
He’s a strong boy and he drinks his glass of milk every day…now don’t whim…get up…”
She got up and put her little hand forward. My little nephew first reluctant,–
Then slowly put his hand forward. She rubbed the dust of his punjabi with–
Her bit of kerchief before rubbing off her sharee.
Oh man, you should see how they smile at each other with missing front teeth–
And then how then walk, rather limped, hand in hand to the pandal…
From Poet’s Desk:
*Pat bhanga: New sharee or sharee wore after a wash and dried after soaking in rice starch
***Anjali: Offering to God and Goddesses during Puja