Art by Jasjyot Singh Hans
My mom read this poem this morning.
She read it attentively and smiled as her eyes reached the end.
She then looked at me and saw me watch her read.
She smiled.
I smiled back, wondering what she was thinking.
Was she thinking of how her own son had gone away?
Did she think of my Sindhi girlfriend when she read ‘Now you are stuck to someone else...’?
She held the two pages out to show my dad and said, “Look, isn’t this Hari from his childhood days?”
How did the poetess Kadambari Sen know what my mom was thinking?
How did the artist Jasjyot Singh Hans know what I looked like in my childhood?
Kadambari Sen has never met my mother.
Jasjyot Singh hasn’t probably even heard of me.
In fact, even Kadambari Sen and Jasjyot Singh Hans haven’t met each other yet!
Such is the beauty of KaviKala.
People coming together to add a bit of themselves to each other.
Every piece of art in KaviKala is a bread crumb from someone’s memory.
Each poem in it tugs at a different string in you.
KaviKala. Sigh.
