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Varsha Kannan Summer, Halfway Across the WorldSilence, except for the scruffy dogs barking outside. The quiet rustling of sheets on the other side of the bed. A figure rising up, blocking the remaining patches of moonlight. Last memory of heavy eyelids. The bright yellow glow of the outside world. A vegetable seller naming his prices on the street. Impatient honks, rusty bicycles. The light breeze of the leaves of the giant coconut tree. Groggy greetings. A splash of cold water in a heat wave. Bright colored linen. Tall glasses of Ovaltine, with crunchy brown toast on the side. Conversing with the milkman. The pile of old Archie Comics. Putt-Putt, the bright yellow auto-rickshaw. Conversing with the watchman and driver. Hot sun spilled over red, sandy roads and my flat sandals. Traffic and a polluted ambiance. Crowded alleys of everything. Trinkets, colorful clothes, jewelry, and kajal. The stacks of Bollywood gossip magazines. Bargaining voices echoing throughout the street. Bags of purchases adding up by the minute. A street-side snack vendor. Plates of crunchy Gol Gappa and tall glasses of lassi. My small bags and tired feet piling into the auto-rickshaw. Gates opening, watchdog barking. Bags falling to the floor, sandals slipping off. Cheesy male actor, crooning on the TV screen. Killing time with Archie Comics. Opening Facebook, no friends available. Cricket in the bus yard with the neighborhood kids. The infamous pistachio cake and ice water. Air conditioning. Eyes closing. Opening eyes. Hot poori and subzi in the tiny kitchen. A round of burps. A box of sparklers and a fat wax candle and a matchbox. Fireworks on a weekday. Another hit Bollywood movie on Z Cinema. The huge wooden swing swaying in the living room. Nightdress on. Complete darkness. |
[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2012 EDITION]
Copyright © 2002-2010 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2010 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.