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.

~Mohul Bhowmick

India