Lovers, a beautiful arrangement

My ancestors were married to each other's name
before they married each other's bodies, thoughts, and habits.
They had been carefully selected for each other by their elders.
My grandmother had spent months before the wedding,
lonely with just the mere knowledge of his name.
later when they saw each other’s face,
they made home with the imperfections of each other
and peace with each other’s bodies.

But I have been born in a world with too many options.
I have learned to demand, to survive in a demanding world.
I choose to love like my mother and the mothers before her
Love for me is an arranged marriage
 arranged by me. He who learns to arrange the traditions I chose to carry
 and chose to let go of.
 he who melds the stories of his soil with the stories of mine.

Their love is a beautiful arrangement.
    My love is a beautiful arrangement.

Their love has no lengths

My grandma's hairs are long
her roots are stronger than mine
my granddad’s love for her has lasted
longer than the length of her hair

On his death ceremony
as the men chopped wood to burn him
the ladies sat in circle to chop off my grandma's hair
one strand at a time
she was a glorified widow
white, ashen, and colourless
love and beauty, departing
like an old tradition
‘your man departs,
love and beauty dies’ the ladies sing songs

‘Let them grow’ my aunty tells my younger niece
and then looks at my two-inched hairs
my naked ears
my long beautiful neck unguarded
‘womanly is now a feeling’ I tell her

My hair is short
my roots are stronger
My hair length cannot decide
the length
of my love or beauty.

From collections: Prem Singh with his radio

A love that is solely mine

I'm 19, at my grandparents’ home 
my grandma sits with his radio on her lap 
and cleans it 
lovingly. 
Then she tells me 
that the radio is a proof 
that love existed 
in between grandpa's ears and grandma's hands 
He loved his radio
while she cleaned it every day, lovingly 
so, love could exist. 

I tell her how I want to be the radio itself
mediums don't excite me anymore 
I do not want to be those hands 
that look after someone else's love affair. 
My hands are meant to be wrapped around that
which is solely mine. 
But she only sees him play, with his radio 
and I see them sitting on their verandah
under the only banyan tree 
playing with each other
and telling one and all 
that ‘love exists’
like they do.