My Wee Hours In Bangalore!

This first poem of mine was a "Featured Blog Post" on July 13, 2007, under the title "In Bangalore!". Who says 13 is unlucky? 12 Jul 07 19:55:58 PM - 1156 Views
http://blogs.sulekha.com/blogs/featured/2007/7/13/posts.htm

My Wee Hours In Bangalore!

It's a hot July day, here in Portland,
Son is in Europe; He is traveling England.

Everyone else is already in Bangalore,
Not me, but I've been there before.

So I sit down to write poetry, I've done that prose.
Never liked reading poetry or even rhyming before.

My very first attempt was just a joke,
‘Cause right in the middle, my computer broke!

Yes, my computer crashed,
Right in the middle of this poem,
It made me so mad,
I wanted to squirm.

After cooking, I decided it’s time to commit,
But my cat Poppy decided it’s time to vomit!

But no, I refused to accept defeat,
I ran upstairs to try the same feat.

This time I used my trusty notepad,
Along with the Thesaurus I already had.

I did not give up; this was just a hurdle,
I cleared my mind, which had become a muddle.

Let me try poetry, it has its rewards,
Imagining myself in Bangalore can’t be too hard!

Traveling to Bangalore is a must,
Visiting my parents always comes first.

Yes, I travel once in two years,
It’s never as easy as it appears.

Packing, flying and arriving at night,
First taxi ride through Bangalore is always a fright!
No matter how many times I’ve taken this ride,
My experience quickly falls by the wayside.

The ride is shaky and everything is quiet,
All I hear is dogs having a riot!

The bumpy ride makes me say, “Blimey!”
The taxi driver says, “Swalpa hidkoLi Swami!”

I look for a handle; There’s none in sight,
So I embrace my suitcases to keep me tight.

“Hmmm, Bangalore has changed,” I tell the guy who’s driving.
“Yeah,” he says, “but you should really see it in the morning!”

Where are all the humans, I wonder,
Seems like all life’s gone asunder!

Does everyone have a home to sleep?
Or is there a homeless person who weeps?

Finally, the taxi arrives at my parents’ home.
Why, they look as dry as a bone!

Why did old age make them shrivel?
After all, food was available by the bushel!

So I exclaim, “You look older than before!”
“So do you,” they reply, and they are not sore.
But I am, after that bumpy ride,
I intend to step inside, but taxi driver’s still outside!

He’s not happy when you just pay his fare,
He’s also lifted suitcases, so don’t you dare!

From 400 to 800 Rupees, his demand rises,
It’s the frugal NRI that he despises.

I do not remember how to haggle,
I used to do it without a struggle.

Mom and Dad try to interject,
But I decide to pay up; I’m ready to forget.

My parents’ home hasn’t changed one bit,
Even my old rattan chair is waiting for me to sit!

But Mom and Dad have no time to chat,
It’s still midnight for them, and that’s that!

It’s now my first morning in Bengalooru,
Mom is preparing Idlis and Sambharu!

But idli can wait, so I step outside,
My poor eyes are not ready for the sight!
Things seemed so peaceful yesterday night,
Looks like my taxi driver was right!

Morning has surely changed Bangalore,
It is sights and sounds galore!

Hawkers screaming with all their might,
Those barking dogs have no fight!

Sure, I coughed when the smog first hit my nosey,
But along with the monoxides came the smell of Dosai!

That’s from a neighbor in the high-rise next door,
And she’s not alone, there’s plenty more!

Also comes the smell of chutney and saag,
But my poor nose hasn’t yet recovered from the smog!

There are all those perfumes from shampoos and soaps,
But I need one just to clean my nose!

The outdoor cacophony is new to the NRI ear,
But wait, is that a Cuckoo I hear?

The Cuckoo’s song manages to reach my ears,
In spite of pandemonium from those kitchen grinders!

Grinders remind me that breakfast is cooking,
I hurry inside and Mom’s waiting!

Everything in Bangalore is so tasty,
If only we Americans weren’t so hasty!

With parents in tow, I’m now ready to explore,
This adorable city of Bangalore!

Ten stray autos, or one loaded bus,
Cannot stop the pedestrian’s rush!

I used to be a pro too at road crossing,
I’m stationary now, in spite of Mom’s tugging!
I close my eyes and let her see instead of me,
Hoping that traffic would show us some mercy!

Mom helps me cross before I know it,
“See,” she says, “there’s nothing to it!”

No place for pedestrians; Oh God, show mercy!
My Mom crosses this traffic, but she’s seventy!

“Don’t worry,” she says, “it’s alright”.
“The speed’s only 20 miles/hour, sometimes, not even that!”
She loves Bangalore, no matter what,
And she reminds me to do exactly that!

She says, “buy some jasmine and some guava,”
“While I buy some Bangalore diary Khova!

“Buy some jasmine please,” yells one seller,
“Pay me in Rupee or in Dollar!

Rupee or Dollar works! The world sure is flat!
Bangalore has changed, no doubt about that.

Believe it or not, this is my first day of poetry,
This day in Portland is hot and sultry.

But what should happen while I was typing my poem,
A second power cut, right here in Oregon!

Bangalore or Oregon, power cuts don't care,
Try writing poetry with a notepad, if you dare!

By Ranjini Sharma
Copyright © 2007 Ranjini Sharma All Rights Reserved

Love to hear from one and all. You may leave comments if you have a Gmail account. Those without Gmail account can email to ranjinisharma@gmail.com
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