..the temperature rises still
in this room
flames licking pots
and sweat screaming
to crawl back into skin
but hell never smelt
so good –
the bengali kitchen
the final frontier
of an artist’s kiln
and
as the fish leaps
to meet
its destiny
transmogrified
into bhapa eelish
i carry in a fan
and she shudders
one eyebrow twitching
shedding
sweat and turmeric
and cumin
in horror
“the aanch…”
she whispers,
“will slant and
burn the oil”
I stand mortified
“please-
get out of here”
and yet…..