Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca
By Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca
The poems tell stories of incidents ranging from our cat needing emergency surgery, my reaction the mandatory staff picture we had to take in one of the schools I was teaching in, and the way watermelons were sold in Bombay by bullock cart when I was growing up. Fruit and vegetable vendors are a common sight in Bombay, many display their wares for sale on open carts, calling out loudly as the housewives emerge from their homes to purchase what they need.
This poem describes an unusual incident outside my home, a rare occurrence in the streets of Bombay.
Watermelons
Watermelons sound like a pretty
innocuous theme for a poem,
The watermelons of my Bombay days
are no ordinary watermelons
They deserve a poem.
Words sway on the page
like the bullock cart
ambling down the road
by my childhood house,
bringing the luscious fruit
Home to us, carefully piled high.
The bullocks are tired
tails patiently swishing flies
the jingling of bells around their necks
The watermelons don’t have an opinion
I wonder what they would say
If they could speak!
The rush of housewives
Sarees flapping in the summer breeze
like washing on a clothesline,
the high-pitched bargaining voices
that greet bullock cart and fruit
might frighten the beasts
The road flavored by the promise of watermelon juice
Will play truant.
I watch in fear of the bullocks.
They are so tall, I am so small
I want to be part of the scene.
They shake their horns from side to side
The crowd gasps, the children step back
Then move forward again bravely
Watermelons on their minds.
My mother had a theory
she usually did for most things.
The greener the melon
on the outside, the sweeter the fruit
on the inside.
So with characteristic determination
she points to the melon
at the bottom of the pile
(Can’t do that at the Supermarket here!)
she will have no other.
I plead with her to be reasonable
The bullock cart driver remains unfazed
Smiles, obligingly pulls out the one she wants,
I turn red as the watermelon, from embarrassment.
Secretly, I wished he had refused
The one at the top would have done as well.
The mountain of watermelons crumble,
they scatter down the street
The urchins help to retrieve the runaways
They seem to appear magically in rain or shine.
My mother is satisfied,
She predicts the fruit will be sweet!
We children eat
In humble silence.
We’re not allowed to slurp
(Bad manners, she says),
the dripping juice
slides down the side of our mouths
wondering how all her theories
about relationships between color and sweetness
had a ring of truth to them.
Whenever I buy watermelons
eat it sliced or diced
with splashes of lemon, sprinkles of sugar
Indian chat masala or Mexican Tajin,
the bullocks and mother appear
permanently etched into each slice
Sweetening the memory and the fruit.
(first published in Yugen Quest Review 2022)
Cat at the vets Photo by Alan Mendonca
For the Love of Cats
The tabby needs emergency surgery
a discussion ensues about costs
it doesn’t last very long.
My spouse lifts him in his arms like a baby
places him in his box and he’s off
to the animal hospital far from our home.
It’s after midnight and the doctor calls
with an update on the tabby.
We’re sleepy but grateful it went well.
After two days, the cat returns home
a cone around his head and a significant loss of weight
The little black and white cat eyes him warily
stays upstairs and sleeps close beside me at night
His brother now a stranger to him.
It’s 3:46 am and my husband calls to me
“I’m sleeping beside Timber on the couch downstairs
“He needs reassurance and comfort.”
I feel the empty space in the bed
My thoughts turn to the children
when they were little and needed reassurance
how when they were teething
He rocked them in his arms walking up and down
on the school campus grounds.
My gratitude to my spouse continues to grow
I had made promises in the words of the song
at the start of our relationship
”Anything you can do I can do better.”
I am considering singing a different song
as the years go by.
Last night he placed a small mattress
in the living room.
This morning, I found him sleeping
The cat curled peacefully beside him.
First published in Verse-Virtual)
School Staff Picture Day
Pictures never do me justice
I do better in real life!
I can’t avoid picture day at school
the day is promised to us as teachers.
I love my colleagues yet dread the copy
that inevitably appears in my mailbox
a few days later.
It’s the usual positions
tall teachers on the high risers
short ones like me must stand in the front row
height is a determiner of so much in life!
The same photographer each year
the photographer’s wife helps him
they are a kind couple
make us relaxed and comfortable.
He follows the same pattern
asks my permission to tuck a stray curl
into my ponytail.
‘Do you mind,’ he says
Of course I don’t mind,
‘Perfect,’ he says, smiling widely.
I’ve been teaching here for almost a decade
professional attire dominates my closet
so dress poses no problem
perhaps the sheen in my eyes a little dimmer.
My smile takes longer to emerge when he says ‘money’
I was expecting the customary ‘cheese.’
Next year
I’ll need a little more blush
a darker shade of hair dye to cover the grey
more mascara on my eyelashes and higher heels
to avoid the rapidly shrinking frame
I might be one of those teachers
politely asked to sit on the floor.
In the classroom I can still
Stand tall behind the desk
No one takes pictures in the classroom.
A child comments on the stray curl though.
He says he wants to see both my eyes
The curl was blocking them.
first published in Verse Virtual
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