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Literature, PoetryFebruary 26, 2016

India Calling

Artwork by Kalyani Ganipathy

Artwork by Kalyani Ganapathy

SONG ONE

Go you, go you
fly you bird
lands outside
go you
here what is
my love?
That garden mine
of mind
is empty

A boat slowly floating
away from Indian coast
sliver of cardamom biscuit
baking in an orange-rind sun
water blue green
like the marbles of childhood
journeying into white foam
new home to grow old in
but never comfortable

SONG TWO

Oh, one who is going
if possible
do make your way back

He died of depression
he wanted to come back, they say
but when he did
he didn’t feel welcome anymore
and he didn’t understand
why the power blacked out
ten times a day
or why the air pregnant with
particles of cow dung
assaulted his nose
or why stray pigs sniffed
discarded apple peels
and mango skins
on litter-laden streets
it was all new
his memories
shaking off dust
giving each thing it touched
a golden hue

SONG THREE

Oh come my friend
come back to me
to you my songs call out

Will you come back
to the land of your youth
will you come back
to the hills
where British soldiers lay buried
ruminating their sins
will you come back
to their graves
which you dug up
and pissed on for fun
will you come back
bouquet in hand
and make the dead undone

Drums sing the hum of hills
synchronized with Shiva’s snore
slumber buried memory
a time of before

SONG FOUR

We, outside, in another land
while in our country
a new moon rises

In:
Crates of fruit filled the house
mangos, apples, guavas
and clothes stitched for everyone
from the same bolt of cloth
a synchronicity in living
the simple life
eating lentils and rice
garnished with clarified butter

Out:
Then Sunday feasts of roast and wine
while Hindi music fills the room
India’s nightingale is singing
Aayega, aayega, aayega aane wala
one who must arrive, will arrive.

SONG FIVE

Should we mention God
or should we talk about you instead?

Flitting in and out of temples
makeshift ones that look like churches
God’s house never looked the same
even though the stories are
and even a thousand hands
aren’t enough to hold all questions
of who we are and what will be

And mother says
what will happen
when we go back?
Your father will drag home
mendicants, priests, swamis
like a household cat
bringing in another mouse

And I imagine
my mother barking orders
Soak the rice and lentils!
Cut the cauliflower into small pieces!
The pressure cooker whistling
for strangers
gathered in the name of God
His one of many

SONG SIX

Wherever you go
wherever you stay
my shadow will be
but a breath
away

An arm outstretched
like Michelangelo’s Adam
fingertips grazing
Mercator lines

I’m coming home Ma
to sleep in your lap
and this time I’ll stay
your fingers curled in my hair
this time I’ll stay for good

~ Shikha Malaviya

Shikha Malaviya is an Indo-American poet. Her book of poems, ‘Geography of Tongues,’ was published in 2013 and featured in several literary festivals. Shikha is a co-founder of The (Great) Indian Poetry Collective, a mentorship model press. She was a featured TEDx speaker in Bangalore, India and has worked with Greenpeace India and other organizations to promote social causes through poetry.

 

Editor’s note: ‘India Calling’ first appeared in ‘Geography of Tongues’, (The (Great) Indian Poetry Collective, 2013) and is republished here with permission from the poet.

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I Dream in InglishIndian poetrypoetryShikha Malaviya

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One last love letter...

April 24, 2021

It has taken us some time and patience to come to this decision. TMS would not have seen the success that it did without our readers and the tireless team that ran the magazine for the better part of eight years.

But… all good things must come to an end, especially when we look at the ever-expanding art and literary landscape in Pakistan, the country of the magazine’s birth.

We are amazed and proud of what the next generation of creators are working with, the themes they are featuring, and their inclusivity in the diversity of voices they are publishing. When TMS began, this was the world we envisioned…

Though the magazine has closed and our submissions shuttered, this website will remain open for the foreseeable future as an archive of the great work we published and the astounding collection of diverse voices we were privileged to feature.

If, however, someone is interested in picking up the baton, please email Maryam Piracha, the editor, at maryamp@themissingslate.com.

Farewell, fam! It’s been quite a ride.

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