by Parth Pandya
The sweeper signals a revival
Of activities at the hall;
he quickly clears the entrance
of the previous night’s debris.
The mendicants line up outside –
their torn clothes
highlighting the contrast –
between revelry and misery.
These familiar players
take guard outside.
As new faces fulfill
the time-worn roles inside.
The bride, obsessed with her make-up
The groom, repeating shlokas he doesn’t understand
The parents, too stressed to realize what’s happening
The elders, brimming with a false sense of importance
The priest, speeding it all up to run to his next assignment
The photographer, directing the proceedings with a lit baton
The guests, living up to social compulsions piled on over the years.
From the hungry pack outside
that watches with constant cynicism,
a little disheveled head runs afoul.
Through a dusty, tinted window,
she watches the rituals with wide eyes,
dreaming to someday have
a grand pretense of her own.
Parth Pandya is a passionate Tendulkar fan, diligent minion of the ‘evil empire’, persistent writer, self-confessed Hindi movie geek, avid quizzer, awesome husband (for lack of a better adjective) and a thrilled father of a precocious two-year-old boy. He grew up in Mumbai and spent the last eleven years really growing up in the U.S. and is always looking to brighten up his day through good coffee and great puns.
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