Rangoli And My Son Poem by Ravikumar C.P.

1

Bright and early every morning
In front of every house but mine
A flowery white pattern of
Rangoli smiles.
Even as a little boy
I gazed at Rangoli with a sense of awe;
In our front yard
I tried to reproduce in vain
many a complex design
that the old lay, our neighbor,
created each day without flaw.
Mother called me Kafir
when she saw me draw.
Why don't you Muslims draw Rangoli?
My neighbour once asked me.
God how I wished I knew!
When our tenants drew Rangoli
In our front yard
What a racket my grand ma created!
And how I writhed in silent pain.

Lost in thought
I once trampled on a Rangoli;
Lucky my reflexes are quick,
In shock I withdrew my feet.
Did someone see me in my act?
I worried myself sick.

2

Yesterday my six year old tagged along
As I set out for my morning walk.
My eyes jumped from one Rangoli
To another. The little one asked,
Why do they draw this everyday?
Why don't we? I chiseled off
The barks and knots
And gave a polished
'It is not in our custom.'

What custom? Came his rebuttal.
To silence the brat
All I could muster was the usual
'Doesn't say so in our holy books.'
Should we do as the holy books say?
'Yes, ' I muttered,
Now getting tired.
You have written your name
In front of our house
And the year of construction.
Does it say in Khuran?
I felt my conscience strangled.

'Quick, it's getting late for your school.'
I said at last. And in silence
We walked the next mile.
Like always, the Rangoli smiled
An enigmatic smile.