Some memories of Parel

 

Some memories of Parel

By Adeline McGill

Smoke from fires in terracotta pots

Adorn the piled high chunna wallahs carts

Hovers, hangs, blue in the scented evening air 

Another searing memory of a life led over there.

The short walk to the *terminus provides one with displays 

of mounds of pani puri, Sindhi cutlets, Madras dhosay. 

A man sits on the corner selling cane and peanuts, boiled.

As dusk falls he lights his wares with a lamp filled with oil

Then, there's the fruit and veg shop, sells garlands, too, you'll see

white mogras, saffron marigolds, and the ubiquitous frangipani.

Riotous sounds of life abound, in the air, upon the ground. 

The clatter of trams- tall, wide and ample.

The ching-ching of devotees doing puja in temples.

That procession! A Wedding! So glitteringly shiny! 

That poor little begging babe- so fragile - so tiny.

A man sits on the milestone, playing his sad flute lament

Before bedding down for the night - on the pavement. 

In his basket sits Lumboo, the coolie, drinking tea

Surrounded by pi-dogs- one, two- no three.

He shouts 'hut' and they're off, running, squealing now.

Not the same treatment meted out to the cow.

Cows are revered here, near and afar.

Religious reasons: Dharma, Samsara and Karma.

The heat and the dust and the odours abound.

In India, my India, timeless, profound. 

A land full of contrast no traveller should miss 

Home of the saddhu, guru, philosopher-and sensualist. 

* Parel Terminus (for trams & busses)