Reclining
statesman like
high backed chair
frayed woven seat
the books lined shelf
visitors stopped by
as he sat
at the entrance
fastidious about the angle
the chair faced the street
almost durbar like
turban starched stiff
though crumpled
never to miss his routine
as he had done everyday
before 1947
before he knew
he would be one
among the 12 million
to be on another side of the boundary
the other side
when he walked his estate
swinging his walking cane
when his gait was straight
in his khaki riding breeches
and his voice invoked respect
some fear too
The Sardar
for his sphere of influence
or so he believed he was
and the community let him
it served both well!
The countenance radiated pride then
thriving,living,engaging
Now, however
he was bent over
an ache on his face
and his voice did crumble
as he narrated his many stories
anecdotes, we loved to listen
his faraway eyes had
our rapt attention
transformed into a movie like arena
memorizing words, pauses, moments
we shuddered sometimes
yet wanting more
as we grew up, and the stories repeated
we probed further
what was it like
for a young daughter to escape
for a young woman to know her house was being abandoned
maybe forever
for young boys to be refugees
The grand old man always dismissed those questions
abruptly ending the session
shuffling his way to his bed, under the open sky
in the central courtyard of the house
the night is an easy place
to mourn and wonder why
The stories held in them
explanations
And the questions were various
what led to the transition?
from the untiring man with the back of steel?
to the old man in the chair by the dusty lane?
what was even more compelling
and curious though
how did his four sons and five daughter’s
carry forward?
with so much faith and such resilience?
what was their perennial source?
who ingrained the constants in them?
each one had a fierce protection about education
for themselves and each other
they argued loudly
loved unconditionally
protected selfishly
each dramatic
somewhat eccentric
catalogs of the Sardar’s legacy
in their own way
reflecting tall – like him
debating loud as they knew he did
pretending he never lost his thunder
creating communities, as if there was never a “Separation”
heads held high
sometimes inspiring, sometimes odd, always trademark
Never diminutive
Life altering events are also DNA disrupting events
the catastrophic change in the Sardar’s life
atomized his persona into the world
Perpetuated by
children, grandchildren
and the many other’s
undeniably influenced
this today is in tribute –
What a masterpiece you were
they don’t make them like you anymore!
this, Pitaji , is in remembrance
and lots and lots of love
you left behind much more than you know
least of all
the routine of the butter biscuits with tea
and the napkin beside the dining plate
and the obvious
trademark swagger!
*Sardar – Leader, often used as a title or form of address
*Pitaji – Father, *ji – denotes respect for elders.
Pitaji is a respectful way of addressing father.
*Durbar – referred to the kings’ court or a formal meeting where all discussions were held
Kashiana 