My mother asks me
what are patents?
My brother who is doing
his Masters in the US
tells her they have
a high value there.
She enquires if the sweat shirt
I got for my invention
is cosy enough and if
I have become a famous scientist.
She says she is illiterate,
knows only to cook.
I clarify: it is exactly that: Patenting
is like making puliyodharai,
it’s about the proportion of salt and tamarind,
of coconut and groundnuts.
You add a little more of this,
a little less of that-
your neighbour calls it texodharai.
Puliyodharai is no more yours.
SUDHA
Making thenkuzhal was not easy
for Sudha, my sister.
Settled in Trichy,
married with two kids,
both daughters,
husband- priest,
in-laws, very orthodox-
enter their house,
and you’ll find Gods
all over the walls.
She was only 20 when married.
Her mother-in-law asked her
to make thenkuzhal;
she did not know.
So mother-in-law took the squeezing jar
and hit Sudha hard on the head.
The jar got a dent.
Sudha was weak-hearted, but strong-headed.
She has since learned how to make thenkuzhal.
Her children say she makes them crispy.
SUDHA’S BROTHER-IN-LAW
He had this habit
of removing his underwear
right in the middle of the room
when he got back from work
and changed to veshti.
His mother scolded him.
His brother laughed at him.
He wouldn’t change his habit.
When he folded his veshti
and sat down for supper,
it was Divyadarisanam.
Sudha could have poured
hot sambhar on it
as Marjina, hot oil
on the head of thieves.
She could have,
but she did not.
TELL THE JACKFRUIT TREE
Tell the jackfruit tree
to bear fruits, uncle,
it has become barren.
It was your gift for us
from Panrooti, remember?
One bud was enough
to scent the whole backyard.
We would pause to breathe in,
washing our dinner plates.
Honey or fruit,
we couldn’t make out;
it was honey-fruit.
Sand from the lake,
humus of onion and garlic
didn’t help.
Uncle, tell the jackfruit tree
to bear fruits
as you told aunt to.
Go with a stick; yell!
WRITING A POEM
Writing a poem
is like trapping
a wild elephant.
You dig a pit
and cover it
overnight.
A wild shape
falls on the page,
and struggles.
Now the task is to tame it,
to ride on the tusker’s back,
though you secretly fear
that one day, under its feet,
you will be crushed.
S.S Prasad , from Chennai, lives in Bangalore and works as a chip design engineer. His first book of poems titled 100 Poems was published in 2008 by STD Pathashala (Chennai). 100 Poems is a book of nano poems: poems integrated on the microchip with nano-dimensions, written largely in the binary language. A chapbook, “Talking Circuits” was published by Offerta Speciale magazine in Italy, in 2014. His second book of poems, Sunday Morning is to be published soon by STD Pathasala.
