Muri-Makha-Pherey-Asha

Conversations end with half nibbled canapés,

Strewn all across the coffee tables

Signs of half hearted consumptions

In a space where food matters the least

And discourses the most

Of attempting expected, yet redundant discourses

Including grief and distress;

Somehow, condolences come in strangely familiar forms of…

Conveying what a man he was!

Or, things never being the same without him.

Worst is the ‘This too shall pass’ bit

When of course, time shrouds grief,

Delegitimizes desires,

Throttles thirst.

Only the stubborn strong knots of longing

Wait for the whiff, the blue and the canvas footwear

To dash through the door

Smashing obits and ahareys 

Along with the curses of consolation

To indulge in a bowl of mochmocha-muri-chanachur mix.

He’s here this minute.

Wiping his muri-makha hands in the pockets of his kurta.

I can see him; you don’t.

Artist: Shahnaz Plamondon Kuhu

Art: ‘Untitled’

Acrylic on canvas

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