Gulmohur _The Mayflower tree.
May Day..
When nude limbed Gulmohurs reached up
tall amongst the gates
of Bungalows n Villas
With Jazz n Classical
music wafting down
our Avenues..
The Petals popping out
of Pista buds...
The flowers opening
up fully ,
whilst the Scorching Summer Sun shone...
on their itsy witsy green leaves...
their long dark snakey
brown beans, that looked liked school rulers..
that we sometimes picked up n cracked
To find red beans in them°°°
Devils eyes..boo!
Those trees are very few
in our vicinity, today
But one Road in Juhu,
is still named after these
Lofty beautiful trees
of burnt Sienna..that
Maestros used in their Master Pieces...
When we ragamuffins, loafers
returned from Summer Club...
Calling them
May Flowers~
The humble Gulmohur.
Maya Angelou
She knew why the caged bird sang as she was caged with strife .
She wrote after trying
all sorts of work
that sometimes, never paid a dime.
When things got bad
she stood at the tenderloin
and turned into a 'hoe'
Yet life treated her bad
and she got hurt, more n more.
Somewhere she got paper
and shared her pathos on a type writer.
She didn't give a shit
to the world,
that had her slammed
and hit .
She poured her heart and told women of color- to rise up!
To empower themselves, so
that better days would come.
After cocooning
You get to be a many legged caterpillar
~in various hues of brown.
No ~she wrote to us
" b_r-o_k-e-n -g_i-r_l-s"
YOU don't turn into a Spotted
Moth,
in a candle flame, to die.
You turn into varied hues~
Of a COLOURFUL BUTTERFLY
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Bougainvillea
They crept through hedges
And gates
With the sound of piano keys
Rifting through
Our avenues..
Delima's
Moraes's
Fonsecas
Rozario's
Rodrigues..
Some had pink n white
Some orange /white.
Some mauve n pink
some multi colored.
But each had paper thin flowers
Of the Bougainvillea
In clusters that made our hearts
Soar..
Taking in the hues & shades..
And all those wrought- iron gates..
Different Bungalows
Different styles..
Dogs n cats and love birds and
Cockatoos..
On Our Avenues lined with
Gulmohur n Copper pods..
A Jamoon or a Peroo or a Tamarind or Mango tree
Laden with summer fruit..
Everyone said hello to everyone else
As we were someone's kids
& they were someone's parents..
What happened to that bonhommie?
What happened to that rhapsody on those same Avenues
Now
Filled with corrugated sheets
& hideous Towers
Almost jutting on the side-walks..
Where we hopped skipped n jumped...
To
"There was
A girl
Tall thin n fair..
Her hair
It was..
The perfect
Color of
Ginger" !!
My side-walk,
our side - walk..
Why did you take away our beautiful neighborhood and turn it into a Concrete nightmare?
Why do you always take away
Our childhood beauty
And turn it into a monstrosity??
Will our Multi- colored Bougainvillea..
ever.. ever..
Bloom for the color-blind?
Caltrain Station-Sunnyvale.
Reminds me of Sunnyvale, California
Walking close to d tracks
On South Mary-
To get the Caltrain by
Huge warehouses
Interspersed with green-houses
N Cherry, Peach and Apricot orchards
A stray Almond or Pecan tree
telling me
This was d fruit bowl of d world.
With the giant Libby's
Black water tank
Coloured with various stone fruit
And huge Pineapples.
Hopping on to the San Francisco line
Getting my ticket punched-
Getting down at 4th and Townsend
Taking d kids to F.A.O.Schwarz -
The most expensive Toy shop in d world.
Having a meal at Woolworth's
Watching Herb Caen sit amongst
Pigeons- close by, at Unions Square near
The beautiful St Francis Hotel
The Street cars-
The sourdough bowls with chowder
N d sea -lions n seagulls-
Singing in symphony -
Watching Limousines being towed
With their lagging -3 feet red carpets-
Making us giggle
at this zaniness of this ocean city
Kissing the Pacific .
The beautiful Golden Gate n her Step
Sister the Bay bridge.
The ugly hood of the Transamerica tower-
Just soaking so much of d city
Most written about by every novelist!
Then- I never knew i would write?
But my creative soul-
Soaked n soaked her like
A sponge found at Mount Tamalpais
My heart n being wanting to
Sooooo belong-here!
Hey Bombay girl-
Welcome to the City
Of dreams-
San Francisco!
Sharing a secret ~
I left part of my heart -
By Powell St and Pier 39!
GANESH chaturthi.
Only a Bombaiyaa
Will get a thud in their heart beat
Know d miles of walking amongst throngs
As buses can't ply,
Cars can't drive
Local stations are packed like sardines
N there's no place to move .
You shop without bargaining
When Bappa comes home
Or -it's khullas-
Outta stock:
Poojas, garlands, mithai, fruit
Agurbuttes, Patlaas, Crocheted garlands,
mats..
Feeding visitors meals...
Chick -chakk lights.
Din -chukk din & chuk din -chukk
Dhols, pimprees
Coconut n sugar crystals
A tilli with koonkoo n rice
On the Elephant God's forehead
N then yours.
Aaartis, Abhisheks
N the Shunk- Conch blow-
The sound of our Bombay Ocean
The salt in d air.
Hunger pangs
N d next home to visit after
Taking the Prasad home!
"Ganpati Bappa Morya
Poodcha Varshee Lavkar yaa."
A rhyme we learn
In Marathi at 2 or three.
In Bombay my City
Feasts n festivals
Are for Parsees, Christians, Muslims,
Jews, Jain's, Armenians and Hindu's
And every Home
Opens her doors
For every Faith-
For Free!
May this bonhomie
And celebration
Always be our Bombay Dhamaaal~
as
Long as our City by the ocean remains-
U-knighted!! ❤️❤️❤️
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