Outpourrr..ings

Outpourrr..ings

Just now, my heart skipped a beat !
Heard you had passed away last night—
News over heard,in the passing, was crisp and neat—
“She’s gone”—words stern—on ‘Mami’, however, sat light !
‘Mami’, my taskmaster in her moorings, was “always and always right”…

Of the lot in the family, I was and remain in her presence, most terrified—
She, I have bitterly learnt,now and then,has my bashfulness verified.
It was my withdrawing nature, I regret, that made me lose you,
In spite of the urging of friends, near and far, old and new—
was more petrified of your loving taunts than their remarks snide !

Hard pressed to suppress my hormones hitting the ceiling;
Retaining the cussedness in not showing any amatory feeling;
And, ‘Mami’, mundanely, monitoring my abiding adherence to orthodoxy:
I was, demurely, caged—spooked even to profess my love, by proxy.
And, you besotted ,expected me to propose like a Knight, kneeling !

Our trysts near the temple were as in daze,routinely brief and taut–
Confined to my ” How are you”, and, Your ” do say something more “;
While I peeked furtively for talking pillars or anything might get me caught,
You dared me—“with your tormentor ‘Mami’, it’s time to settle the score ?”
Frankly, it was the against devil inside me, I confess, the grudge I bore—

It was the same devil that had me sneak close to you, then, deny
The reason for my coming with a Laurel of Hardy’s dead-pan—
You couldn’t take it any more, and, mocked me—“let your ‘bheja’ fry ! “—
More than my little brain, knew my manhood needed the scan…
” There is a limit to being pussillanimous—” chirped a bird in the sky.

That morning, I saw you smirk at me and escort a stranger inside
Your mansion, again glancing at me. For the first time, did not hide,
But, like one possessed, reached your bed-room window only to watch
Mutely, goings-on which suddenly sparked a burning in my crotch—
My racing heart missed a beat–“putting off things—L’affaire a-botch !”

My chewing ‘tulsi’ leaves told ‘Mami’ the story of my apparent guilty pangs—
She said, “On your last visit, you never saw a ‘pillar’ at the temple scoot?–
Thank Heavens, I am THE expert in tracking marauding vampire-gangs:
Confronted and rebuked your ‘love’—she did not protest nor refute !”—
I remain, ‘hurting’ for not getting ‘bitten’ even once,and, a bachelor, to boot !

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ( C.) . KUMAARA SUKEJA. AUG 2015.

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About Kumaara Sukeja

As for my bio-tidbits, had studied English Literature for my B.A ( Hons.) degree in the 70s.Dad was a writer and a journalist of repute in the vernacular media in his time. There were also others before him in the family who had celebrated works in their names in the Kanarese, the local language.I was fascinated by Ogden Nash for one for his originality. Among the literary devices, I have almost a weakness for Alliteration and Rhyme schemes also come easy to me. As one grows mellow with age—I am Sixty–I guess, Empathy is one virtue that develops in the character, naturally, after shedding a lot of flab throughout the years…Although my name is Ramesha, I prefer to write under my pen name.

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