There, on the wall above the stairs we took, to reach the loo,
clucked a cold monster with a white seed in its belly.
Grandmother said, “Our wealth will increase. Don’t be scared.”
When I cried, she assured me, “That’s Lakshmi on the wall.”
I would have liked Lakshmi to look beautiful.
And stand on a pink lotus and rain coins from her palms.
But I never spoke a word against grandmother whom we only saw in summer.
In summer again, on the wall above the stairs we took, to reach the loo,
my grandmother smiled at us from behind sandalwood flowers.
Her forehead creased, folded in that question she always asked us,
“When will I see you again, maga?”
That night the cold monster came out from under her frame
Slithered across the wall to cluck with another that I hadn’t noticed before.
My mother said, “We must do pest control before we rent this place out.”
And then I knew my grandmother was right.
That was Lakshmi on the wall.
My note: Because I have discovered a lizard in the office now, and it’s such a bloody nightmare. So in class, while Keerthana, the facilitator, was asking us to write about the passage of time through movements and metaphors, I was dying about coming face to face with the lizard again. And so this.
I am a Sunflower in the BWW: Poetry (Classic), which everyone who loves words and language should join.