Poetry: Devesh Path Sariya

Streets and life in Hsinchu, Taiwan: During Covid19 

(1)

They were standing

in the diagonal street to me

Towards me was

the girl's face

and the boy's back

The boy said something

and the girl laughed

There was no mask on her face

As soon as she noticed me

the girl slid the mask on her mouth

Like in an Indian village in my memory

women used to pull the veils of Saris on their faces

I wanted to see more of her laughter

It’s been a long time

since I saw an Asian beauty laughing

without a mask .

(2)

Many weeks later

The covid has gone slower

I saw her again

on the same side of the street

talking to the same guy

I think they are the co-workers in some nearby office

And usually come in the street to gossip

They are anyway working in a close environment

and didn't bother  to cover up

their faces with masks

while they were together

I counted the safe number of yards from them

and waved my hand in the air

The girl’s divine island laughter just blossomed

The mask is on her chin.

(3)

I am a photographer

of the heart of life

which beats in the streets, on the roads

Now the streets are empty

The roads are red hot

Like a hard found opportunity

I saw a middle-aged man

Sitting on a park’s bench

Wearing a vest and a blue jeans

smoking his cigarette

I held my camera

and jump towards the scene

So from a safe distance, the camera could zoom in

But he was the master of juggling

He caught me mid-air

and threw me away

He might be scared of

being caught on camera without a mask

Seeing this incident

the gardener of the park

paused for a minute

As a consolation

I clicked pictures of

the garlic drying outside a house

and the old plastic chairs.

(4)

He is standing on the railway overbridge

Clicking the photos of the empty railway track

I can tell

his camera and lens are not the expensive ones

But photography is an art,

not a sport of the rich

The rich brats can only get a few conveniences

like better background blur,

or a better night scene using the tripod

The basics of the art are still the same

The photograph gets captured first in the brain

The guy standing on the overbridge

is looking for the destination

of the diminishing railway line

I am a photographer of a different kind

My camera is lying idle in my room .

(5)

The university’s convocation has been cancelled

But they had already distributed the attires for the convocation

the coats and the hats

And had put the effigies around the campus

on the grass yard in front of the library

near the trees of royal poinciana and the golden shower trees

The students were supposed to

click pictures with these effigies

The covid had to strike now

Sometimes, I see the students

with their coats, hats and masks on

clicking pictures on rather weird places

The effigies prepared with so much passion

are being used by the sparrows to shit on .

(6)

Zhubei can also be pronounced as Chupei

This disrupts me from the pronunciation I am used to

Zhubei is the neighbor of Hsinchu

Just like ‘Machari’ is neighbour to my hometown ‘Rajgarh’

During the last two days

Zhubei has seen more Covid positive cases

than Hsin Chu

But it’s in Zhubei only

that a physical therapy clinic opens

in the evening

And I have got two slipped disks in my back

While returning from Zhubei

I buy freshly cut pineapple

passion fruit juice from the 'Coco'

Wheat bread from the RT bakery

And scan a QR code on my mobile everytime

So that the government knows my footsteps

I do not enter

the Indian restaurant nearby

There is a discount

But I want to save the appetite and some money

I haven’t saved a penny for months now.

***

The exiled

(1)

If there were even the slightest possibility

to sell their belongings off

in order to stay,

they would have grabbed it

They left their safehouse

Set their cattle free

Somebody would keep them

for as long as they will be useful

They packed a rag of clothes

They took the coins hidden in corners

water and cereals

and loaded them on the back 

of the sea or the mules

They were losing their faith

in humanity, in God, in destiny

So they surrendered themselves to the mules

wherever they would take them

following the grass and leaves

or, on whichever shore the boat takes them

driven by the waves and the winds.

(2)

They are aware

that the clock is ticking for them

and not all the entangled issues will solve

and they might never return home

but they do not lose hope

In their sleep

they return home

Living in a different land

they do not cut down

the kind of bushes that used to grow

while going to the market from home

They grow the flowers from home

and protect their garden from stray animals

But, they let the birds come

and let them jump on the roof, on flower pots

Some bird might have flown

all the way from home

(3)

If only they could return

they would face the question:

whether to take back their old homes and lands

or to let the new owner live there in peace?

This would the the biggest dilemma

as they know better than anybody else:

the pain of having one’s home snatched.

***

Devesh Path Sariya is a Hindi poet, non-fiction prose writer and a translator of poetry. His poems regularly feature in leading Hindi journals. He is 35 and works in Taiwan as a post-doctoral researcher in astronomy. Email: deveshpath@gmail.com

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Setu, February 2022