were
a glistening titanium yellow,
a
mix of the sweltering sun and monsoon rain.
In
the front courtyard, it stood reaching
out
for promising, summer blue skies.
Mounting
trees, we threw down tangelos
that
landed in our make-do basket like frocks.
The
tangelos were a dark shade of amber
and
often sour that crinkled up faces.
Among
orchard trees, we sat peeling them
one
at a time, until a flash of an idea came by.
The
meadows, a shade of lime green, was
a
carpet of velvety grass where we played
hours
of dodge ball and stuck in mud.
Evenings,
we lay about in open fields
watching
birds fly home, before our mothers
lured
us into ours with the promise
of
freshly made pithas*.
When
Uruka* came, we camped counting
stars,
drawing faces on moonlit skies.
Through
cold nights, we huddled for warmth,
playing
old shadow games.
And
as flames from the bonfire flickered
against
the black of the night,
a
tinge of tangerine lulled us into
a
warm, mellow slumber.
*Pithas -
Pithas are usually made of rice flour during the festival of Bihu in Assam.
*Uruka-The
first day of Magh Bihu, a harvest festival celebrated in Assam, a northeastern
state in India.*First published by Pageturners in their anthology, Across the Ages in July 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment