the night of new poetry
there she was five eight
with a childlike gait
in burnt orange copper kurta
and faded boot-cut jeans
nervous and enthusiastic
reciting ‘red toenails’
at the wood panelled theatre
akshara where the alphabet
is the world
after the customary tomato soup
doused with black pepper
don’t get me wrong it tastes divine
he took her out
for conversation and cuisine
at the tavern eponymously named
after the British travellers
in eastern India during Raj
they sat down
amid liveried cutlery
and fine bone china
to discuss
the society of the spectacle
and the revolution of everyday life
as reflected in love longing and lust
relationship as a one-night stand
as lifelong bonding
he told her he felt responsible for her
youth innocence and impressionability
she asked ‘what is the wildest
thing you have done’
he let it pass
she said ‘trust me you can’t shock me’
he still let it pass
they both ate lightly
shared saffron chicken biryani
then at the midnight hour
he dropped her at her place
safe and sound
illusions intact
he felt redeemed
this time experience was on his side
he came back home
and slept a deep peaceful night
24 November 2003
