Poetry: Snigdha Banerjee Agrawal

Snigdha Agrawal

O GANGA

I’m not surprised…

You haven’t changed

As much as I have

Though we meet after

More than three decades

Your sinewy body remains

Mine has shrunk and bent

Your vision has expanded

Beyond the line of horizon

You remain source of strength

I’m not surprised…

At how you have retained

Within and outside yourself

Ancient and recent blended

Into one harmonious oneness

While I continue to struggle

Whether to accept or reject

Impositions of change

You are constant yet keep moving

With so much dignity and grace

While age has withered me

I stay caged

Because of compelling circumstances

I’m not surprised…

That through all the perils

You have come out unscathed

Sun shines on your upturned face

Wind plays on your surface

Fire burns inside your bosom

Transporting souls to heaven

And if I so much as err in thought

Branded as immoral overambitious, flirtatious

Coz my profile mentions I’m saposexual woman

Betwixt you and me 

Differences stay immeasurable.

Why? O Ganga do you win over me

Both women carrying same baggage

***

DRUGGED

O Ganga… you flow with so much dignity

In your old brown arms

I feel protected from invasions of evils

Despite carrying human detritus

Is it because in you I find Ma?

And just like Ma 

You cradle me to sleep 

With music from your gentle ripples

Allowing me to suckle

 On your spiritual bosom

I draw comfort, inspiration

Frenzied mind, lulled into calmness

Uplifted from the morass

O Ganga…tonight I am witness

To your spiritual presence

The full moon hangs like a gold pendant

Around your slender neck

Sequins glittering in your tresses

Like stars in the sky overhead

Each lighted lamp, a pray for deliverance

From the sins of the mind and flesh

O Ganga…your fabric is old

And at places threadbare

Embroidered with threads

Of hope and clairvoyance

Your purity inseminated 

With seeds from heaven

Giving birth to Hinduism 

Oldest religion, non prescriptive 

 A way of life one chooses

And as I wait on your banks

Watching mortal remains of man

Rising in flames sky high

I comfort myself there will be a time

Not too far in the horizon

Flesh and bones of mine 

Will dissolve to rest in your bosom

O Ma… then with you I shall be one

Completely liberated!

***

SCENTS OF VARANASI

Burning dead flesh

Sandalwood paste

Strong smell of incense

A heady concoction

Releasing tears 

A spiritual connection

Mother non-partisan

Ganga, her name

Embracing the living 

And the dead

In her bosom

Aroma of blackened roasted Brinjals

Filling dark alleys

Wafting from windows

Assailing the nostrils

Somewhere a poor widow’s

Spartan meal being eaten

Rolled with dry chappatis

Pushed down the gullet

Once she cooked meals

Fish, goat meat, chicken

Rated five star

Now denied from diet

Palate long dead

Eating salted rice

With mashed vegetables

Society ignores her presence

Sweetness of cannabis

Hangs in circles

Deeply drawn in, slowly exhaled

Sadhus and saints

In deep meditation 

On Ghat steps

Foreheads ash smeared

Unable to determine fake or real

Drama of life goes on

Surrounded with hippies

Seeking enlightenment

Under the influence

Of several drags shared

Camaraderie of souls dancing in unison

Scattered wilted flowers

White, Orange, Russet

Some still fresh

Hanging around the neck

Of souls trapped in shells

For thirteen days

Some blossoms burnt with the flesh

Tuber rose wreaths

Carrying inexplicable fragrances

Water, Mud, Wind, Fire

Punched with sweetness

In your narrow alleys

On your cemented banks

Filling up olfactory pathways

A potpourri of scents

***

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

You ‘O Ganga’ the primordial mother

Was… is… will continue to provide succour

Growing old, shrinking, resuscitated

Moving on beyond time

Eternal Mother to men

Respected, enjoying retirement

Mothers on earth

O your roles are so different 

You have to fit into tight grooves

With no room for expansion

No… no… you cannot grow old

Stuck in your assigned roles

“I want dal cooked like Ma makes it” he says

 “Food cooked by Bahu is what we’ll have”

Saas, Sasur declares

Others auto suggest “nobody can quite cook like her”

Too much rests on her shoulders

Stooped with age, pleasing palates

 

And, if she so much as complains

Of failing eyesight, back pain, sore knees

No one pays attention

She is not supposed to be sick

Hailed as ‘woman of strength’

Never mind her age

The unprivileged woman

Retirement for her, off limits

C’mon Ganga say something

Come to her defence

***

GARLANDED

They spoke a secret tongue

Between a heart and soul

As if, nobody existed

As if, they were in a world

Of their own

The bubble burst the day

She stretched her hand outside

To catch the glittering stardust

Instead fell broken glass shards

Of false hope

For years she’d been stringing 

This garland of love

Of multi-hued beads of glass

Falsely conveying to others

How beautiful life was

Those beads kept dropping off

Under the weight of truth

Leaving the naked rope around

Hanging like a noose

Truth glaringly exposed

This twisted, weather beaten rope

Red and white bangles on hands adorned

Thick Sindur

Proudly proclaiming her status

A beautiful camouflage!

***

Bio: Snigdha Agrawal (nee Banerjee) is Bengali born, raised and educated in cosmopolitan environment, with exposure to the eastern and western cultures, imbibing the best of both worlds. With more than two decades experience of working in the corporate sector, her outlook on life is balanced, which reflects on her writings. A versatile writer, she writes all genres of poetry, prose, short stories, travelogues, hotel/restaurant reviews on Tripadvisor. A published author of three books, the latest titled “MINDS UNPLUGGED Lockdown Stories And Rhymes For The Six To Sixteen”, is now available on Amazon.in, Amazon.com, Flipkart. An intrepid traveler, her travel diaries can be accessed in word press blog: randomramblings52. She lives in Bangalore (Karnataka) India.

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Setu, February 2022