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,
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
Acrylic on canvas