A Storm of Spices
On Saturday evenings, Mumbai, I would often be alone – My consultant room-mate, over-zealous, Would refuse to be flown Back to base, and I Waking up groggy in the evenfall, Feeling lonely, morose, melancholic Would wonder what to do at all That is when, one dusky day, I wandered off in the lanes afar, Stumbling on an ocean of spice, Rainbow colours in a sea of jar Glow of turmeric, powders of gold Chilli in scarlet, cinnabar red Cumin, cinnamon, anise in brown And cardamom pods in pistachio-jade Heaps of hues, as if Holi was here, Gulal gathered in the gloaming’s glow But more than the colours, the whiffs ablaze Waking me up, steady and slow The air suffused with a pungent sting Piquant aroma, even acrid a bit The colours, the smells that brought back warmth Just as the market lamps were lit It turned my norm, each Saturday lone To head to the market, the storm of spice To shed my world of ...
