Panipat
My aunts sit in the courtyard,
Gossiping, shelling peas,
While around them parrots
Cackle in the neem trees.
I sit with my flute near the place
Where the well was covered up
To make a septic tank
I glide from stop to stop
Following the scale of Lalit
Though it is afternoon;
It’s mournful meditative
Mood moves into a tune
Leading me God knows where —
Into a universe
Beyond — beyond Panipat!
Well, I could have done worse
Than break my studies and come
Back home from Inglistan.
Punjab, pandits, panir
Panipat and paan,
Family, music, faces,
Food, land, everything
Drew me back, yet now
To hear the koyal sing
Brings notes of other birds,
The nightingale, the wren,
The blackbird; and my heart’s
Barometer turns down.
I think of beeches, elms,
And stare at the neem tree.
My cousin slices a mango
And offers it to me.
I choose the slice with the seed
And learn from the sweet taste,
Well-known and alien,
I must be home at last.
—Vikram Seth, ‘The Collected Poems’ Penguin Books