KOLATKAR, Arun
    
      
    
      
    Pi-dog
  
    
      
    The pi-dog
  
likes the city when it is not in action as:
This is the time of the day I like best,
and this the hour
when I can call this city my own; . . . .
when it’s deserted early in the morning,
and I’m the only sign
    of intelligent life on the planet; 
    
      
    
      
    
      
    Turnaround 
  
    
      
    Bombay made me a beggar.
  
Kalyan gave me a lump of jaggery to suck.
In a small village that had a waterfall
but no name
my blanket found a buyer
and I feasted on just plain ordinary water.
I arrived in Nashik
peepul leaves stuck between my teeth.
There I sold my Tukaram
to buy myself some bread and mince.
When I turned off Agra Road,
one of my sandals gave up the ghost.
    
      
    
      
    The Butterfly
  
    
      
    There is no story behind it.
  
It is split like a second.
It hinges around itself.
    
      
    It has no future.
  
It is pinned down to no past.
It's a pun on the present.
    
      
    Its a little yellow butterfly.
  
It has taken these wretched hills
under its wings.
    
      
    Just a pinch of yellow,
  
it opens before it closes
and it closes before it o
    
      
    where is it?
  
    
      
    
      
    An Old Woman
  
    
      
    An old woman grabs
    
      
    hold of your sleeve
    
      
    and tags along.
    
      
    
      
    She wants a fifty paise coin.
    
      
    She says she will take you
    
      
    to the horseshoe shrine.
    
      
    
      
    You've seen it already.
    
      
    She hobbles along anyway
    
      
    and tightens her grip on your shirt.
    
      
    
      
    She won't let you go.
    
      
    You know how old women are.
    
      
    They stick to you like a burr.
    
      
    
      
    You turn around and face her
    
      
    with an air of finality.
    
      
    You want to end the farce.
    
      
    
      
    When you hear her say,
    
      
    ‘What else can an old woman do
    
      
    on hills as wretched as these?'
    
      
    
      
    You look right at the sky.
    
      
    Clear through the bullet holes
    
      
    she has for her eyes.
    
      
    
      
    And as you look on
    
      
    the cracks that begin around her eyes
    
      
    spread beyond her skin.
    
      
    
      
    And the hills crack.
    
      
    And the temples crack.
    
      
    And the sky falls
    
      
    
      
    with a plateglass clatter
    
      
    around the shatter proof crone
    
      
    who stands alone.
    
      
    
      
    And you are reduced
    
      
    to so much small change
    
      
    in her hand. 
  
    
      
    
      
    Man of the year
    
      
    
      
    Nothing much happened, except
  
that the Himalaya rose by another inch,
fewer flamingos came to Kutch,
    
      
    and the leaning tower of Pisa leaned
  
a little further out
by another 1.29 millimetres,
the Danube poured
two hundred and three cubic kilometres
of fresh water into the Black Sea,
    
      
     the hole in the ozone layer widened,
  
the earth became poorer
by two thousand seven hundred plant species
    
      
    
      
    Kala Ghoda 
  
    
      
    …..
    
      
    
      
    The clock displayed outside
  
the Lund & Blockley shop across the road
is the big daddy of all clocks,
and will correct me if I’m wrong;
but I think it’s tonight already
in Tokyo
where they’re busy polishing off
sliced raw fish,
sushi balls and tofu with soy sauce;
and the emperor’s chopsticks are poised,
at this very moment,
over Hatcho Miso, his favourite dish.
In a restaurant in Seoul,
a dog is being slowly strangled
    before it’s thrown into a cooking pot 
    
      
    
      
    
      
    …..