I.
[Is ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ Coastal Road worth ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ecology?]
we must speak about the land as an orbit an erosion
a map carbonized into the helm of cinderblocks
you are playing with Mumbai like we play a game of cards
[∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ may decongest the city. But ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ people ∙∙∙∙∙∙ places it will harm?]
in a physics class I kept hearing plants
when my teacher said planks
[∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ at a time when fisherfolk, like other ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ communities, ∙∙∙∙∙∙ struggling to recover ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ the heavy blow of the ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ pandemic. ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ “Had you been there ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ you would have had tears ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙,” ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙. “I invite ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ come live with us for two days, ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙. ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ not even have vegetables ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ with rotis sometimes.”]
the truest sentence is a hailstone.
because the Arabian sea is swallowing our city
where it is being built for wealth regardless of tides
where tomorrow’s ancestors are today’s elusive parents.
my father walked barefoot to a temple several times
to pray to a goddess, this temple is situated upon the Arabian sea
where now my mother’s ashes are mixed with water
in the pandemic in a new country, we move ten houses
in twelve months. our cartilages remember a country
as sponging throbs of firmament emptying into rain
[∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙, an assistant professor ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ calls this a “skewed idea of planning”.]
tell me the history which will not be written in books
and I will tell you the cleaving of a family, how it begins
[“Our beaches will go underwater, ∙∙∙∙∙∙ currents will change, ∙∙∙∙∙∙ shoreline ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ eroding faster, ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ loss of biodiversity, ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ livelihood of fishermen ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ destroyed. ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ an exercise in extravaganza ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ could ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ have been avoided, ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙,” ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙. “This belief ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ restore nature ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ from every ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ mind, ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙]
my mother’s father was a fisherman, a Koli
with significant ties to water. we all will be connected
to water is a story which will yield a life.
the water turned alkaline, nana, before I could
leave the country. the word for alkaline in Marathi
is अल्कधर्मी. when calling out to God, I weep in Marathi.
II.
[‘100-year-storm’ batters Mississauga, ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ damage could have been ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ worse]
when it rains, rasped, thunderstorm blur knots
churning the city into water into lake into pond into river
ocular and abject, I remember the Credit River for its amplitudes
of sound, cultivating entire forest marshlands
why are you thinking about wealth with the alliteration of water?
[While storms like the one ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ are rare–the last comparable ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ in 2013–experts say climate change could trigger more ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ temperatures climbing just one degree ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙.]
for two years, the cherry trees have begun to bloom
earlier due to rising temperatures. a congregation of families
will arrive to watch the eighty trees at Kariya Park.
two cities are called sisters. after refrains of fog bridled
into the balconies of high rises, eyelids will sketch pestles
of autumn leaves that surpass an erosive winter.
when I leave a country, the birds meet me in sutures of cities.
[∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙, the stormwater drainage system ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ more than 51,000 catchbasins, 270 kilometres ∙∙∙∙ ditches, 150 kilometres ∙∙∙∙ creeks, ∙∙∙∙∙∙ 81 stormwater management facilities (including ponds, ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙, ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙) that help
∙∙∙∙ collect, drain, and clean ∙∙∙∙∙∙ ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ rainwater runoff before it enters Lake Ontario, the source of ∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙ drinking water.]
Two 100-year storms hit our city in a month.
A distillation prayer of an immigrant passes through
widening trees into the greenbelt, exiting the city as the Credit River
takes new forms. With the city changes the country
and then the world. Except water, in its memory
of taking form through rituals against slants of cartography.
I won’t say I have left the Arabian Sea of changing waters.
In his last years, my paati’s anna kept calling God in Tamil.
When I was a girl in a sprawling temple of gingelly oil lamps
I asked my mother if God will understand my prayers in English.
God understands all languages, my mother would say.
Now I pray in malls, parking lots, bus stops, empty rooms.
Through water, I step out of the borders of a country.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙If we won’t listen, will water—
will water take formless thuds; throb, ferried into everything,
as if a country as if an unmooring, liquefying into an auspicate
inexhaustible source of oneness?
