spring

चैतर चुनरी रंगा दे, पिहरवा

चैतर मासे 

shobha gurtu's voice makes me

nostalgic for a house

i have never called my own.

a house with one storey and

a chhat 

at the end of a narrow gali,

beyond which is a dirty lake.

a house that is always bustling with women -

why are there so many of them? -

women in faded cotton sarees paired with

mismatched synthetic blouses,

and one end bunched up at the waist.

their payals announce their coming,

the decisive clinks of bangles, going.

they are everywhere.

talking, problem-solving, working

long days since days are long now,

mothering, delegating, planning

meals for the incoming myriads of festivals.

the men crowd one room,

discussing the state of the nation

and profit and loss

and drinking tea endlessly,

being self-important.

they don't notice the naked trees,

palash flowers,

the longer days,

warm mornings and cool nights -

spring.

shobha gurtu reminds them.

धानी रंग साड़ियाँ मँगा दे, पिहरवा 

चैतर चुनरी रंगा दे