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Southwards, towards the Coromandel Coast,

My native town does lie,

My heart throngs to see it,

With each blink of an eye.

I know the people and the names of places,

I know the native tongue,

I know the colours, bold and gracious,

And the sound of morning and night.

At home, with family, with cousins and aunts,

With genial uncles and solemn grandpas,

With grandmas and their awaited grants!

The leaves brush against my fingers,

As I swing up and down,

Picturing this very town,

As a six or seven year old!

If you know your geography,

A banana leaf must surely figure,

In the vague mists of your imagination,

That I so far managed to trigger.

But to eat with a dozen in your family,

And cuddle up and share,

What life has been dealing them,

And what it has spared,

With a full meal in front of you,

With Rasam, Mor, and Parappu!

And mind the kari and the uppu!

We wade away towards the beach,

Where the water froths and wets the sand.

And we build sandcastles and tunnels,

Until the tide has risen and,

Drowned our conjectures in her majesty.

The conches and the shells we carefully handpick,

Slowly does it! Smoothly does it!

Colourful and patterned, how sad, they aren't all ours,

So we leave a couple for the other explorers,

And with finality clasp our fists!

And so c

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omfoozled are we by end of day,

That we leave behind a trail,

That's stern and straited, of our shells,

On the map- a slight and minute tail.

And scurry back home, waiting for a walk,

To the temple nearby.

Then eat Paati's homecooked sadam,

With saambar and kai.

The metro spans the length above our heads,

We're adventurous, and we determine,

To traverse its route from end-to-end,

From overhead through the'underground mines'.

Then we conclusively visit my Peripas, Perimas, Athais,

Chittis and Chittapas, the neighbourhood crowd,

And seek their blessings and reinforce familiarity,

(Especially for me, since it's from young memories)

From a maami at a wedding or a family-gathering,

Tracing the route through the family hierarchy.

And for the denouement, here it comes,

I'm the youngest, at least today :)

My akka buys me presents, books

To fill my summer holiday!

And so I sigh, and hope that time,

Moves its hands o so slowly,

That I never grow up,

And always avail

The privileges of being youngest.

But then my akka, independent and confident,

Is a shimmering streak of hope,

That reminds me that we need to grow,

And bud and flourish so.

She hurls the crowd together, unites the young and old,

And I cannot but wonder,

How will I be when I'm that old?