A Little Secret

Once upon a time our deities lived in sanctum sanctorums.
A lamp on either side highlighted their cheekbones.
Milk baths soothed their skin-tones, and camphor stroked
the insides of their elbows.
How we wriggled into queues, balanced on toes,
craning necks to intercept Compassion—
May a drop fall upon us, me in particular.

Once upon a time encircled by nine mountains
where the soil shimmered, we dug and found
the marker for the very womb of creation.
In search of perfection among pebbles,
we claimed a Saligramam.

Now look, the deities are out like clock towers.
Adiyogi competes with the mountain’s profile.
He is everybody’s backdrop and buddy.
Beneath a Prussian blue sky
to all the shooting stars we reply with selfies.

Every lane has its own Ganesh.
Best means biggest, and the best can only
be hosted on the chief minister’s lane.
Poverty dances to free hooch. Remove all obstacles,
we cry, and the electric grid is turned off
so the giants can be towed to sea.

This is the hill where Hanuman paused.
He stands again, high above the Deodar trees
commemorating our glorious history.
We pay homage from across the valley.
See that little structure at his feet,
that’s an ancient temple where
a forest-dweller does puja daily.

This Hanuman’s ready to strike, flourishing a mace.
That Hanuman muscular, his legs like lightning bolts.
Every statue of Hanuman taller than his predecessor.
Outdone by the neighboring town we added
a taller parasol, proved just who’s more devout.

What does my silver hair know, what
do my gray lashes hide.
Slower each day I water the plants,
muttering secrets.
But there’s one I must mutter
aloud : God is a shy bird, so—

Hush.