ALEPPO

The kitchen sink is piled high with dishes;
The leftovers have already begun rotting
In the heat and humidity.
A greasy, drainy smell burns my nose.

Kiran Bai is on a 'two-day' leave 
Since the last three days.

Tubai has a fever today morning.
Woke up with a burning forehead, teary eyes
And a dry hacking cough;
Not to forget
A tendency to tantrum at every turn.

Brownie is barking endlessly,
Short, senile, needy barks.
His arthritic hip is worse today:
Unable to climb down the stairs-
He has emptied his bowels on the living room carpet.

Sujit’s on the phone.
The stocks are not doing too well.
On TV,
All his graphs have downward slopes.

He finishes dressing
And glances at the empty dining table-
An oblique gaze.
Breakfast is on the hob, still cooking.
The clock hands point to eight and twelve.
Sujit leaves.
The main door bangs shut,
A little too loudly.

My cell phone rings
Its Sujit’s mother.
“Beta, the fast starts today evening,”
Her shrill voice reminds:
“Remember, no meat, eggs, fish or cereal;
And only rock salt and kootu ka aata!”

I call the office-
“Is it possible to take today off?
Son’s unwell.”
My voice is apologetic.
Boss’ voice, cloyingly sweet
And suspiciously sympathetic.
“Sure, sure;
But do mail the presentation by ten sharp!”

Losing a screaming match with Tubai
Over the Crocin syrup,
I retreat to the kitchen.
Turn the tap
To start the dishes-
It gurgles, spouts and then slowly dies!

By now Brownie’s intestinal discharge
On the living room carpet
Is screaming foulness.
I grab some tissues and the pail-
But as I bend over the dog crap
The bile rises up my chest;
And with it rises
Anger, frustration, self pity
And many other crippling things.
Crumpled,
I leave them behind :
The tissues, the pail and Brownie’s crap,
There on the living room carpet
And collapse before the TV.

Its Al Jazeera,
Live from Aleppo.
The camera moves carefully
Over mountains of concrete rubble
Of homes, shops, schools, hospitals.....
Occasionally, bursts of smoke and dust shake the camera-
Bombs:
Cluster, Barrel, take your pick......
But here on my TV they are noiseless,
The camera’s delicate microphones have been switched off.

Dark eyed people run for cover
Chased by the now mute camera.
They come to stop at doorways
With absent doors
To homes with pockmarked walls
And missing roofs.
The people stare at the pursuing camera
As it stares right back at them
Catching in thousands by thousands pixels
The broken eyes and broken souls.

A man is speaking to the camera
He too is dark eyed, dark haired
With a dark five day stubble.
His words sound exotic
Arabic has such a beautiful earthy timbre!
The translation flashes across the screen.

The man is talking rapidly
Of things he needs,
Things he has lost,
Things for which he grieves-
Trying to get in all his words
Before the next bomb drops:-
Water, food, medicines, fuel;
Clothes, books, schools, teachers;
Homes, jobs, families, neighbours
Wives, husbands, sons, daughters
Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers
Pet dogs and friends.....

But my brain only skims over the words.
I am thinking other things-
Damn Kiran for playing truant today
This month I’ll for sure deduct
From her salary.
Wonder if the water supply will resume today....
I hate doing dishes!
Need to get Tubai to see Dr Roy by evening
I hope he’s not caught dengue.
How the hell does one make a presentation
With a sick, nagging child by one’s side?
How the hell does one make lunch
And dinner
With no cereals, no meat and no fish???
Sujit’s no help-
'Bloody Typical Indian Male!'

I stare unseeing
At the 42 inch LCD screen.
Hurt wells up my eyes
Along with great globs of self pity.
Refracted through my curtain of tears
The bombed city now shimmers
And breaks.

The door bell rings,
Its Kiran,
With a sheepish look and
“Didi, pehle bartan kar loon?”
I hear the kitchen tap gurgle
Like a mountain spring-
The water’s back!

Back in the bedroom
Tubai snuggles upto me
“Mamma, feeling hungry.”
His foreheads now reassuringly cool.
Brownie shuffles up
Dragging his bad hip along,
And places his greying snout
On my lap.
His brown eyes with their cataract-ous orbs
Penitent.

The cellphone blares:
Sujit.
“Lets go out for dinner.
I’ve ordered pizza for lunch.
How’s Tubai now?”
The cell phone beeps
Mildly this time.
Another call’s coming through-
Boss.

“Ok, I’ll call you later.”
Sujit ends his call
With a soft “Love you”.
I pick up the next call
“Conference is postponed.”
Boss sounds strangely relieved.
Like a weight is off his back.

Sujit’s ‘Love you’ echoing in my head,
I feel like a tingly teenager;
Tubai’s tousled head is now on my left knee
And Brownie’s greying snout 
On my right;
Kiran Bai potters in the kitchen
In comforting clangs of pots and pans;
Pizza for lunch is a pleasant prospect:
Enveloped in my everyday life
I inhale
And settle back 
Against my comfy pillow.

Before me
On the TV screen
War still plays breaking news.
With smoke, dust, fire and thunder
The bombs keep falling
On Aleppo.