Monkey-Cap

It is peak winter here,

Temperatures in single degrees,

I feel the polar blast over my bare head

And wish for a woollen refuge,

When a sepia image comes to mind

And makes me smile even decades later

 

It is not even late autumn’s November,

But neighbouring Nukul Babu

Has got his sweater out, a green Kashmiri shawl

And that brown monkey-cap

What’s wrong with him, I ask

But he warns me, Thanda lege jabe

 

Soon enough, he infects the locality

More monkey caps come out of steel trunks

Infused with moth-ball security for months:

Grey, blue, black - they all look hideous

A poor man’s astronaut with some imagination

I would detest that garment,

Preferring a stylish muffler,

That too wrapped around the neck

Not the head

Lest I too look apish -

A bucolic dolt who found Kolkata cold

 

A jab of emptiness

Pricks that balloon of pride

After all these years,

I miss a bit of warmth to cover my head

But somewhere, I miss even more

The simplicity of that Para I left

 

Where people could be

As they chose –

No matter how clumsy their attire

A monkey cap, a worn chador,

Or even a red and white gamcha

No one looked out to judge

 

An empty wind blows,

I feel the chill even more

But the streets are empty.

There is no one to care or notice

Yet, I can hear Nukul Babu advise

‘Wear that monkey-cap, Thanda lege jabe…’

 

5^th July 2026