PEOPLE, NATURE
AND THE WORLD
Poetry
by
Indrani
Ganguly
You can’t change how people treat you or what they say about you. All
you can do is change how you react to it. Mahatma Gandhi
Who am I?
I am a
Libran. The scales are supposed to represent balance.
I believe
they represent forever seeking balance.
Some days
my glass is half full.
On other
days it is half empty.
I cannot
predict how I will react to people, places, plants or pets
I am
forever changing.
Ode to Crosswords
My days are
like a crossword puzzle
Sometimes
the clues are easy
I can fill
the squares without pain
Other days
I agonize
For the
words that won’t emerge
From the
recesses of my brain.
Easy or
hard it matters not
The puzzles
teach me new words
I’ve never
encountered before
Long
forgotten words spring back to life
Creating
new connections
All part of
life’s complex score.
***
What am
I remembering?
Every month
has something of significance.
Sometimes
it’s for the whole world
Sometimes
it’s for Australia or India (or both)
Sometimes
it’s just for me!
***
January
Inspired by
a visit to Allahabad January 2020
I stand
before the bungalow
Home to us
more than fifty years ago
No-one
lives there now
The
bougainvilleas have gone
The lawns
and flowerbeds lie buried beneath a sea of weeds
Is the
house pleased to see me?
Does it
smile as I take a photograph
To preserve
memories once it’s gone?
My old
school building is still bright and beautiful
Though an
ugly annex half hides the view
The nuns
wear saris instead of habits
Students
wear Indian garb instead of skirts
But their
laughter sounds the same.
I stand
before the message under Mother Mary’s shrine
Women in
times to come will do great things.
I think the
time has already come.
I walk the
narrow streets of Lok Nath Gali
Redolent
with delightful aromas
Of the
delicacies my parents loved.
We nibble
on puris, kachoris and samosas
Then creamy
pistachio-topped dudh malai
As finely
spun as the meringue
On the
famous pavlova from down under.
I am
pleased age has not withered childhood pleasures.
I meet an
old friend
Fifty years
has not lessened
Our
pleasure in each other’s company.
We exchange
books we have written
Memories we
have stored.
I meet new
friends
Gender and
age are no bar
To strike
new chords.
The annual
Magh Mela is on.
We stroll
along the confluence of two great rivers
Girding the
tent city housing thousands of pilgrims
Preparing
for a dip in the holy waters.
Saffron-clad
holy men now ride motorbikes
And use mobile
phones
One of them
offers us tea
Some good
old-fashioned hospitality!
I sit in
the train for the journey back
The young
man above sends texts incessantly
The older
gentleman sitting opposite says
‘Alas, we
are losing our culture.’
I say if we
weren’t we’d still be divided
By gender,
caste and religion.
‘True,
true,’ he admits as the train jerks forward
Another
journey moves to an amiable close.
February
Noted for
Valentine’s Day
Spread the
love
Fires warm
Fires burn
An incinerated
joey impaled on a fence
Animals
sheltering in a wombat’s burrow
Rains
quench thirst
Rains sweep
away
Children
dancing in the rain
Elation for
some, for others sorrow.
We meet in
silent unity
All that we
can say
Is dig
deep, dig deep to spread the love
On this
year’s Valentine Day.
End of love
The sound
of your voice
Is like a
moth
It flutters
around
The candle
of my love.
The words
slide off your lips
Like a moth
flutters its wings
Rustling,
soothing, mysterious,
Gliding in
the wind.
The sound
of your voice makes me smile
But you
will soon burn
The candle
of love
Will become
the funeral pyre.
***
March
March is
dedicated to Mars, also the month of Holi, the Hindu spring festival, and
International Women’s Day.
Mars
Mars gleams
redly in the sky
Sweeping
attention away from the pallid moon.
A shower of
stars distracts momentarily.
Space is
not empty
But a
cornucopia of invisible connections.
Like unseen
emotions
That bind
us more tightly
Than any
rope or chains.
The scent
of your skin
Precedes
your presence
International
Women’s Day
Women are
strong
Women are
weak
Women are
brave
Women are
meek
Women love
Women hate
Women are
complex people
No matter
the date.
***
Holi in Australia
It is not
spring
When
Australians celebrate the spring festival
What does
it matter?
People of
many hues
Spray each
other with coloured water
Or smear
coloured powder
We become a
multicoloured mob
United in
our zest for living.
Breaks are
for sweets and snacks
A time to
take, a time for giving.
Then we
return to the fray.
The
security guards grin
White teeth
gleaming through painted faces
I think
they enjoy
Turning the
giant hoses on us.
***
April
The month we
commemorate the ANZACs (25) and No Housework Day (7th)
Is April
the cruellest month down under?
Why do we
have an April Fool’s Day?
We
commemorate the ANZACs
There are
many others to remember.
Spirits of
Roma Street Parkland
In the
centre of Brisbane city
Is a
verdant parkland
Host to
many spirits
From many
different lands.
For aeons,
the Turrbal people met
To hunt,
camp and play
Telling
stories around night fires
A restful
end to the day.
Then came
the Europeans
And
sweeping winds of change
Buildings,
markets, schools, trains
Even an
orphanage.
Now the
Emma Miller Place
Marks
battles women carry on
Anji Ban
died alone
She was not
the only one.
A lone boy
stands in the middle
Did his
spirit hear the apology
Tendered to
the forgotten Australians?
Did anyone
heed his mother’s cry?
Mahatma
Gandhi on the other side
Inspires
with his non-violent creed
Despite his
own bloody end
Shot by his
own, the foulest deed.
Through the
gardens we meander
As always I
wonder
The murmur
of the breeze
The rustle
of the leaves
Is it the
spirits crying together?
Or laughing
in the trees?
No Housework Day
Ironing
Cleaning
Cooking
Gardening
Sewing
Shopping
Painting
Mending
Now why do they all
Rhyme with boring?
***
May
This is the
month of Mother’s Day and our wedding anniversary
Impending
motherhood
Belly
swelling gently
Like the
full moon
Life within
life.
Your face
is aglow
Like the
tender rays
Of the
morning sun.
You lie in
wait
Hair spread
across the pillow
Dark as the
night.
Your tears
come
Like the
falling rain
Life giving
life.
Crossing
the divide
Que sera sera
Whatever will be will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que sera sera.
My son says
he’s gonna marry a white woman.
Auntie says
they have no culture or tradition.
They
neglect their children.
And show no
respect to their elders.
Why
couldn’t he follow our ways
And let me
find him a fine wife?
My daughter
says she’s gonna marry a black man
What will
their children look like?
I dreamt of
fair blonde grandchildren.
I don’t
know if I could bear to touch a black tyke.
Why
couldn’t you marry good old Joe Bloggs
Or that
smart young Bruce that works in the bank?
What’s that
you say?
He’s
educated far beyond anyone I know?
I always
said we gave them too much aid.
If we don’t
watch out, they’ll take over one day.
They said
it would never work.
East is
East and West is West.
Black is
black and white is white.
And never
the twain shall meet.
We’ve
travelled many different ways
Sometimes together,
sometimes parallel
Sometimes
totally apart.
But always
there was a point of return.
There was
pleasure, there was pain,
There was
loss, but also gain.
If we went
back in time
We’d do it
all over again.
Our
children are not black or white.
But shades
of brown like this sunburnt land.
Their
friends come in many hues
From many
lands with many tongues.
Together
they will move
To
reconcile with the children of the First Nations.
Like us
they will find life isn’t a straight line.
For every
decision there’s a price to pay.
But they
will never think what will be will be.
Just like
us they’ll learn how to fight
And forge
their own destiny.
June
June
focuses include child labour, plight of refugees, music and yoga.
Bitter
Bites
It’s not
too much cocoa
That makes
the chocolate bitter.
The
chocolate would be better
If we
didn’t use child labour.
The
carpet’s knots aren’t flawed
Because of
the weaver
The carpet
would be prettier
If we
didn’t use child labour.
What do
squeaky shoes tell you?
Is it the
leather
Or the cry
of despair
Of child
labour?
Simply
banning child labour
Will not
make it right
Teach us
practical solutions
To help end
their plight.
A Song for the Disappeared
The Bone Woman
Sifts through the soil
As tenderly as a mother
Parts the hair of her child.
What will the Bone Woman find?
Bodies clasped in a last
embrace
Fragments of bone
Or just some sad shreds of
clothing?
Slowly she recreates
The person that once was.
The dead begin to talk to the
living
Now family and friends can
complete their cycle of grieving.
As she works the Bone Woman
changes herself.
Once she said ‘This is what I
did’
Now she says ‘This is what I
have become’
Nostalgia
Smoke gets
in my eyes
As I rock
around the clock.
I pass
Eleanor Rigby
Playing with
the confetti
Of another’s
wedding.
Downtown
I lean on
the lamppost
Frolic under
the boardwalk
Then board
the yellow submarine
To go play in the octopus’s garden.
Homage to Yoga
Some wobble in the tree pose
Some knees just will not bend
Some fingers will not reach
the ground
Some pain we can’t suspend.
And yet
The stretches deepen our
breath
Focus our minds
Massage long-neglected muscles
Yoga’s always our friend.
There are lots of happy babies
Right at the very end.
***
July
In remembrance of World Nature
Day 28 July and my beagles’ birthdays
Nature is majestic and
uplifting
The night is cold and dark
Tiger Hill looms above us
Inviting all to climb and see
the sun rise in all its glory
Tourists and locals shiver in
collective anticipation
Lady coffee vendors keep us
warm
Men offer shawls and gloves
We pray Mother Nature will be
kind
And no fog or rain will mar
this pilgrimage
Crows caw, children squeal
Suddenly the chameleon sky
changes
Black, dark blue, pink, red,
and finally a glorious gold
Shimmering off the snowy peaks
of the beauteous Kanchenjunga
Golden River Ganga, golden sky
Meld into one
Infusing our bones and hearts
with warmth
And raising our spirits to the
heavens above.
***
Nature is also cruel, capricious,
destructive
The sun hurts my eyes
As I gaze across the sea
Hoping, hoping, hoping
They’ll come back to me.
The waves hiss in derision
A cruel mistress is the sea
The seething foam warns
Never to take her lightly.
A speck appears on the horizon
Two more are behind
A boat and two life jackets
Nothing to soothe the mind.
Neither child follows them
Boat and jackets waft to the
shore
Will the sea spit my children
out?
Are they lost for evermore?
***
Sometimes nature is scapegoated
by humans
The apple’s caused much
discord.
Paris gave one to Aphrodite
To win Helen
And short-term delight
But at awesome cost.
Another apple led to Eve’s
downfall
And Adam’s too, as I recall.
Hippomenes used golden apples
to defeat
Atalanta the fleet.
They loved well but not
wisely.
Both became lions drawing a
chariot for Cybele.
The fox maligned grapes as
sour.
What fruits did Tantalus just
gaze at for evermore?
Persephone ate six seeds rich
and red
Of the pomegranate, food of the
dead.
Now Pluto shares her
With Demeter.
***
My funny little beagles
Are called Bonnie and Clyde
Their tails wag incessantly
They never leave my side.
Bonnie’s beautiful brown eyes
Beguile me night and day
Even when she tugs like mad
Showing me the way.
Clyde is the joker
Forever on his back
A scratch is all he wants
And perhaps a little snack.
Indian, Western, cooked or raw
They like most kinds of food
Except for mushy veggies
And fruit is not so good.
Language doesn’t matter
English they can understand
Bengali seems to work as well
For affection or command.
Our funny little beagles
They’re such sweethearts
They haven’t stolen anything
Excepting all our hearts.
August
Admit You Are Happy Month,
Independence Day for Indians, Ekka for Brisbane
Why are you happy?
August is the month to admit
you are happy
Are you happy to be free?
Or simply to savour
Ekka’s strawberry sundae?
***
September
September is when Eastern
Koels arrive in Australia from their northern winter homes to breed. It is also
the flower festival season and Bureaucracy Day (29).
Koelsong
Koel sings at the break of day
Songs of one land
Reverberate in another.
Koel lays her eggs
In another’s nest
She’s not the world’s best mother.
Drab-feathered koel
With the voice of gold
Singing ‘kuhu kuhu’
Since the days of old
***
My Floral Friends
They have no eyes to see me
No ears to hear me
No mouth to speak to me
No legs to run to me
No arms to hold me
But they have colours to
entice me
Scents to tantalize me
Windy dances to beguile me
Juices to soothe me
Crisp flavours to tempt me
Some have thorns to prick me
A simple message ‘Don’t pick
me’
No bars to sharing colours and
scents with me
In life my floral friends surround
me
In death they will cover me.
A
Bureaucrat’s Day
The urgent brief’s finally
done.
Two submissions are begun.
E-mails flash across the
screen.
I hit clear, clear, clear
Almost as soon as they appear.
The photocopier emits a mighty
wheeze.
The printer chews up a few
more trees.
‘I’m double-booked again,’ our
Director sighs.
‘No room for your meeting,’ her
assistant cries.
We have Tim-tams for morning
tea.
Sugar and caffeine to restore
energy.
As the day marches on
ominously
Phones ring incessantly.
Clients call, to praise or
blame
Us for the endless waiting
game.
Some suddenly the day is done.
I don my walking shoes and
head home.
***
October
The first Indian McDonald's
restaurant which opened on Oct. 13, 1996 in New Delhi was also the first
McDonald's restaurant in the world not serving beef.
Multi Mania
Hark, hark
The newshounds bark
The multinationals have come
to town.
Bearing the gifts of
civilisation
Adapted for people who’re
brown.
Barbie in India wears saris
And her skin is a suitable
tan.
Never mind her face seems
Caucasian
And her legs an unnatural
span.
The burger kings declare
‘you’re safe, no beef
Only goat in your buns will
do.’
And the crisp barons say
‘We’ve thrown the vinegar away
We’ll give you chilli and mint
and other spices too
We hope you appreciate just
how much we love you.’
So we dine on the burgers and
snack on the crisps
And fizzy drinks too are a
must.
And when we look on high
At the global sky
It’s still only the Big
Brothers that can shine
The little ones stay down in
the dust.
***
November
Best known for the iconic
Melbourne Cup. I am uneasy about making real creatures compete for human profit
but simulated birds are OK!
Clouds flit lazily across the
sky
The Brisbane River ebbs and
flows,
Children laugh and scatter
sand
Adults sip coffee in the
afternoon glow.
Then suddenly comes a mighty
roar
From the crowds gathered to
see
Twenty-three thousand rubber
ducks
Jostling each other in a mad
melee.
‘Come on little fellers’ the
children cry
As the ducks bob and weave in
the swirling foam.
Some lose their lanes, others
run aground
The rest strive valiantly to
reach home.
Finally, one duck reaches the
winner’s post
It rides in glory, the rest
are packed away.
Save a cheeky one that escapes
the lifesaver’s nets.
Will it laugh with the
dolphins tonight at Moreton Bay?
December
December is a time for many to
come together and celebrate. For some it is not.
Sad Santa
The Christmas tree is brown
and sere
Santa will not come this year
Is that the wind rattling the
door
Or the spirits of the woman
and children
Who once lived here?
Now they hide in a house far
from their own
Their dog howls in the RSPCA
cage
The love of strangers cannot
meet
Its need to belong.
Will Santa call them naughty
when he hears them cry?
Or will he bring gifts of hope
and strength to survive?
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