Revdanda

 

Revdanda was a Sunday’s pitstop

Before returning to Monday’s Mumbai

 

That lazy afternoon, in coconut’s shade

You explored ruins on shingled lands

While I couldn’t help join the crowds

Cheering a cricket match on golden sands

 

The village was gathered in feverish joy

Bucolic paradise in 22 yards

 

I tried to bottle that moment – a spark,

Drifting timelessly on languid skies

Revdanda’s life, existence in peace

No need for adios, or sad goodbyes

 

Who’s winning? I asked the villagers

Gathered there on Honda bikes

 

They smiled back, ‘Does it matter?

We are just enjoying the match,’

Indeed, the same people hurrah-ing every six

Were also celebrating every catch

 

City folks, they must have wondered

Dying for outcomes, starts and ends

 

‘What are you watching?’ you whisper to me

‘There’s Portuguese ruins upon the beach’

But I don’t stir, I hold your hand

Look, here’s happiness within our reach

 

The skies were pricked, it was time to leave

Could we stop the montage on that frame?

 

No, but Revdanda would wait, as she always did -

Her colonial ruins I had left unseen

And matches on a lazy Sunday’s dusk

Where all who came would always win…