The Shiva Lingam draws in the shade

From the peepal tree,

And on its side

Sculpting herself out of the granite relief

Mansa Devi’s face peers from the drape

Of kunkum and turmeric 

Caked in chandan and ghee.

Hibiscus and marigold

Open her realm in continuum

Serpents crowning her head in protection,

On her side, two nagas in a helical embrace, 

Flanked by one emerging with five heads,

All mooring ballasts 

Of the Nagarakatte.

Bullock carts whirl dust trails 

Into slipstreams 

Where conversations 

From parrots in the tree 

Slide to distant banyan and tamarind trees.

The Devi weaves short 

The tripundra interleave of time 

To reveal the new Lingam

Seated in a granite temple 

Painted outside 

In yellow, orange and sky blue.

Bare feet on cool black slate floor,

They bring offering for wishes

Woven into jasmine and marigold

As the pujari awakens 

The streets’ early morning rhythm of chaos 

With an oil lamp, camphor and turmeric.

The red rose balances the stars,

Where serpents in sprawl 

Protect those who enter this temple,

While they carefully step around

What balances in white Rangoli. 

Colorful reverence joins the slipstream

Trailing a pujari from his forehead  

Caked with vibhuti and the red kumkum

As he rides his motorcycle down the street.

A farmer neatly displays

Green and  purple vegetables 

In a bright new yellow tempo bed.

Rows of pushcarts on street sides,

Stack greens, garlic and red onions,

Stores display papaya, watermelon and chickoo.

Whiffs of sandalwood soap trail 

Behind women with kumkum in colorful sarees.

Men’s faces carry quiet morning devotion 

As they carry vegetables in bags, 

With peeping drumsticks.

A woman leans over her cart weaving,

Jasmine and marigold to carry prayers

For those seeking at the temple before work.

The cook smears ghee and gunpowder

Onto the dosa dough spread on the pan,

Men on stools, bent in silence, devour

Idli with chutney and sambhar 

From stainless steel plates.

People touch the cow 

With a garland and a tricolor forehead

And touch their own for grace.

In front of her freshly washed doorway

A woman admires her colorful rangoli. 

I join others to maneuver the litter 

Of discarded vegetables, 

Heaps of dry concrete and bricks,

Dodge scooters, motorcycles and cars,

And fresh cow dung walking the street -

On my morning ritual to the gym.