Yagna
BY SANJANA THAKUR
Here’s how it will go: you will grow
afraid of this unkind decade, and more
religious. Everything good by god’s
grace, everything bad by man’s hand.
It’s kaliyuga, you will stop listening
to the blues and start fires
in the back; hope the smoke will carry
your prayers to a being who is all
knowing yet somehow still tender.
Bhajans, black money, blue gods
are in everything. In you and me
and your one comatose friend who
is in Breach Candy Hospital
dying. In pillars and pound bags
of flour. In fires and finance. I think
you are asking too much, always,
even in the way you tell me I am pretty
so that I know you think I could be
prettier. Jaanu you have such lovely
features. Even in the way you draw
the fork to your pursed lips to eat
birthday cake. Daytime you will draw
the curtains in the living room,
cover the windows that overlook
tall grasses in our garden. You will
block out nazar; you will also block out
light. I will fight you on your
philosophies. Draupadi deserved
better and so did Sita. The men
in our mythology get away
with it all and women endure
trial by fire, trial by falling
off a mountain for the crime
of loving and being loved
too much. You will buy your guru
a new car. A 2017 Hyundai Elantra
that comes in sleek silver, passion
red, phantom black, or polar white.
You will pick peacock blue; you will
pay for it. On the road I will imagine
He is in every blue car I see, like
god, if god could occupy only
the blues. The sky, water
bodies, certain kinds of fish
and other flowers.
Forget me not, though I am far
and don’t believe in the things
you believe in.