Each time we cross the border
the Jewish woman
next to me on the coach
breaks off from our conversation
about sight-seeing and souvenirs
to shiver slightly
just for a moment
Over the eleven days
spent touring Europe
I have admired photographs
of her grandchildren
exchanged recipes, shared bonbons
An easy friendship
but for the dark history
periodically rising
mountain-high between us
She remembers
and shivers
each European border
a reminder to me too
of the borders within her
I can never cross


Sari-story
by Shampa Sinha GS

The rustle of you
is my earliest memory
with hint of bangle-jangle
and anklet-clink
rainbow membrane of smells
jasmine, incense, fried onions
mapping the daily trajectory
of the soft pupa of the woman
you cocoon within
as a child I clung to you in my sleep
as if to my umbilical cord
only to discover upon wakening
the limp folds of a discarded shell
the butterfly had long softly fled
having stroked my face
with a hand made of wing.


Non-resident Indian Writes Home
by Shampa Sinha GS

Glad to know you are
drinking adulterated milk
(It contains much less fat
than the full-cream variety)
In the West now
Cholesterol is the number one public enemy
I have seriously taken up Hinduism
Levitation, I hear, burns up a lot of calories.


Abhimaan
by Shampa Sinha GS

Untranslatable many-shaded anger
how can I explain
I am not “mad” at you
not trying “to pick a fight”
anger is so
easily compartmentalized
in your language
so black and white
one either smashes plates
against the wall
or settles things
over a quiet mature coffee
but this that I feel
has a sweetness to it
like the soft-pouting
of a monsoon sky
cloud-heavy
with my love for you