Bombay, a March vacation
Met Sreya Sankar
In a double ducker bus
Shared a seat, lines of a magazine
Taste of some poetry
She told me of various mangoes
Experiences from her fruit store
Bombay, in March heat
Hot saucepan of
Bodies and buildings
Bombay, in March heat, we met again
Walked long walks
Shared peanuts
Silly laughs and
Browsed through
Church Gate second hand book shops
Bought Michal Ondaatje’s
The Cinnamon Peeler, once
Bombay, in March, a bitch in heat
Felt it in my spine
Eyes on her breasts
Hands on her shoulder
Wanted to feel her dark lips
Wanted to taste the mangoes
From her tongue
Bombay, in March, my last vacation night
We left Silky Bar, drunk
Carried her through the beer
In a Premier Padmini
To her apartment
'You smell like a mango'
'You smell like a mango'
- She, drunk in the car
I was enjoying her breast on my shoulder
She vomited in her bedroom
For me to clean
Bombay, in a March night
I slept alone in her sofa, drunk
Morning, she made coffee
We made love on her hard bed
Done it again and again till noon
Bombay, in a March vacation
Train to Pune was late
At the platform
Reading Cinnamon Peeler,
A hand touched me from behind
‘Where is Sreya Sankar?’
Bombay, a March vacation
I looked back into her past
A chill drilled holes in my heart
Loud cries
Dark crimson pool of blood
Half nude girls
Violent sobs, shouts
Hands, legs, sweat bodies
Red eyes
But she couldn’t hear me
But she couldn’t see me
But she couldn’t reach me
Then she died again
Bombay, a March vacation
A seat in the Pune train was vacant.
