To You, Shrimati Lahiri
I must have seen you before
though I can’t recall exactly where
but it’s certain I saw you.
It’s not easy to forget those eyes of yours,
bindiya on your forehead, your red
thin-bordered sari and vivacious yet
somewhat pensive personality.
It’s not time for Krishnachura to bloom,
but then on this ancient city’s river
many boats ply.
A slice of moon is reminiscent
of your bindiya.
While being ferried across the Ganga
I heard some men talking of Siddharth
of Herman Hesse and
Hemanta’s intoxicating song.
But you alone in my mind.
You alone in my mind.
Mira Bai
Dawn is being swept away down melody’s stream.
Birds, tender leaves, grasses and pebbles
sing in response.
From far, far away, you, Mira Bai, are walking slowly
towards us with your heart-wrenched
devotional Brajabuli song steeped in
otherworldly grace, making your way
through centuries of tumult, bloodshed
and our long accumulated darkness.
This dawn of springtime is adorning
your Giridhar with new hues.
Bimbabati
Bimbabati!
Someone seemed to have called someone else by that name
as I was walking on the street, the name reached my ears.
It calls to mind
Ujjwain, Sarnath, Baranasi and Narmada Maiya.
I imagine myself walking through such a city
along the Narmada’s banks. I imagine myself
going past the Munda forest and the Shulapani falls
even as I am chanting “Reba, Reba.”
But in my subconscious mind someone by the name of Bimbabati
seems to have come to stay.
In vain am I trying to recall her.
