Thursday, July 31, 2014
Poem By Vandana Kumar
It was that day of the week when people turn more pious than usual...
And there - In the still evening...I sat with scruffy pals
With outstretched arms and a bowl that labels us mendicants
For me, it was that day of the week when I started recognizing all the regulars
And a pattern to her visits —
I had committed to memory the number plate and model
And even knew her chauffeur who waited...
as she offered food and did the little other things that people call charity
Would I not see her I would be fretting
Fearing the worst
A shift from the city or a tyrant of a husband furiously preaching against giving alms this way
How my hands quivered each time she alighted
As her pale fair hands put some crumpled notes in my bowl
Just no urgency in her stride
I barely looked up at her nor down at the bowl
I never looked at what she gave and how much of it
I just saw the chauffeur honk, "Time to depart!'
And then the agonizing wait for another pious day of another week!
About the Poet:
Vandana is a bon vivant who loves travelling, working with young minds and exploring creative possibilities beyond the ordinary. She has done her masters in history (L.S.R. Delhi University) and Diplome from the Alliance Francaise de Delhi.
She is a French teacher in a couple of schools and private institutes and also translates for various publishing houses and corporates. An active member of various quiz clubs across Delhi- she has a soft corner for Kolkata where she spent her childhood. Her various passions include singing, playing the piano, composing music and participating in local anthakshari competitions. She describes herself as a dreamer...a wanderer and a certified incurable romantic..the romantic moorings worsened with all her fancy french studies. Poetry for her is her stress buster - her flight to fancy- and strangely...what keeps her rooted too.