Death is a great leveller, nothing more, nothing less
Award-winning poet Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla, based in Mumbai, India shares three poems selected from her book ‘Borders and Broken Hearts’
Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla is an award-winning poet, translator, healer and French teacher from Mumbai, India. Her poems have been widely published in international anthologies and periodicals. She is the author of three poetry collections – Borders and Broken Hearts shortlisted for the PVLF Author Excellence Awards 2024 for Best English Poetry, Invisible Eye longlisted for Cochin Lit Fest Poetry Prize 2018, and The Empress winner of the 2018 US National Poetry Contest by Ræd Leaf Foundation for Poetry & Allied Arts. Her co-translations of Nimanoo Faqir and Sachal Sarmast are published in poetry at Sangam. Her translated Sindhi poem ‘Safar’ won the first prize at the Kavya Kaumudi International Poetry Award. She is recipient of the Rahi Kadam Inspiration Award 2021. She is the author of Healing Elixir The Hawakal Handbook of Angel Therapy, Numerology & Remedies. Her co-translations of Sachal Sarmast’s Sufi poetry are part of an upcoming book.
Terminal
Sitting in the corner balcony of his one bedroom
Early mornings he is busy,
The ten kilo papad dough needs kneading
Handful of spices must be showered
And then there are spirits of solitude
From his backyard in Karachi.
His ailing father pays him regular visits
At his age he hates to be ignored,
He likes his morning cup of chai
Hot almost like the tongue-burn chili papads
Sun-kissed under the autumn skies.
From the age of five
He wears a talisman
Copper metallic plate
Cold like the dead body of the cobra
Coiled, de-composed, molted salt.
Death is a great leveller
Nothing more, nothing less.
Yesterday he dreamt he is a child,
Playing cricket with the boys of the mohalla,
“Don’t go too far my son,
The valley of moonflowers will entice you across the barbed wire”.
The words resonate again and again.
How does one switch off the little voice?
***
Hiraeth
That summer we left our childhood behind
In the darkling mango orchard,
Before we knew it
The julienne carrots and turnips
Left to sour and pickle
In the scorching sun,
Before we knew it
Grasping the stone-fruit in our fists
As if the sky had fallen
The lightening felling our wrists
Leaving our chappals in the yard,
The porch lights switched on
Awaiting our quiet return
We walked away,
Before we knew it.
[Note: Hiraeth is a Welsh word for nostalgia and homesickness]
***
Flight 1947
Rubber slippers forgotten in haste
Walking bare feet
Naked realization
Dawned upon an Amavasya night.
Jamshed Quarters stands tall and stoic
The lights have been switched off
I look away a sea of fragments
Ahead, an oyster of tear drops
Notes:
*Amavasya-No moon night.
*1947 the year of partition of India, is symbolic of displacement and isolation. It was a moment of emotional turmoil as overnight our family left their Homeland Sindh forever. Jamshed Quarters was our ancestral home in Karachi, capital of Sindh province of Pakistan.
Also read: Longing for a homeland never seen
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