by Pratima Chaitanya

The ludicrously orange foreheads
Herding near a dying stream
To gain a blissful life,
Bumbling prayers of piety and purity
Watched at by a grinning boy of nine,
Squatting by the river side. . .
With bright eyes, no clothes,
Defecating in the holy water
Of the revered Ganges,
And glaring with absolute delight
At his odious shit
Twirling, twiddling, swirling,
With the playful ripples,
Which befriend and carry it
Merrily along.
Odorous fumes, fragrant blooms,
Dried coconuts, red threads heap
In the Pandit’s tent.
The anxious Pandit,
Dressed in solemn white,
Eyeing the drenched woman,
With fleshy curves
Through the corner of his eyes
Invites his customers
And promises to perform
An apt pooja
Which would help the couple to beget a male child.

Kumbh Mela