Poem: In Andhra

On the train, we stop at
Vizag, and they load the
dinner trays. We know it
is Andhra. My eyes water.

Everything is spicy. Every
morsel burns the tongue.
The inside of my heart,
and throat burn. I curse
the water which isn’t cold
enough. Curse you for
loving me the Telugu way.

The train would then yawn
into the next state. I now
feed you curd and rice. Soft
and bland. The Tamil way.

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5 Responses to Poem: In Andhra

  1. Nilu says:

    I am not much of a poet — but is there like an allegory type? It’s beautiful at so many layers.


  2. ashok says:

    good one…


  3. sita says:

    oh, how i miss andhra food: the many millions of pickles, the fresh chutneys, a thousand different ways of cooking a mango, a hundred different greens, fifty ways of cooking, no preparing each one of them.. and here at tiss, we just get nasty yellow food. 😦


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