To Katisha Chakraborty, five years from now
You do not remember when you climbed onto my back Nor when Murphy whined, asking for the same; You do not recollect waking from bed, trying to attack The brownies with renewed vigour. The game We wanted to play could wait, as could The unwarranted attention you had to give to a drawing. We stayed in that rainy afternoon; you’d Let Murphy smell us before letting us in, withdrawing Into the exotic playpen with tiny paintings of pigs On the side. How tall you’ve grown now, Standing up to my shoulders, cracking the twigs Of the Pipal- possessing all the know-how. Riona, you make me wonder about the day When we’d watched Oswald together on TV; You were smitten by the flattering way In which he spoke to you. The unrestrained glee Gave me a sight of yours I had not seen, Welcoming me to places I had not been.