Is grief a fruit or a vegetable?

1.
Grief is anar
But grief is also beet

I cut grief into small cubes
What's bleeding,
the grief or me?

Grief pops inside my mouth
And I always want more

2.
Pomegranate's grandmother's favourite fruit
But, Anar it is,
anar bears love
It's passion,
says grandmother.
"Anar is a love language
It leaves traces of affection.
It's love
It's sweet
It's expensive,
yet affordable"

Pomegranate's a waste of time,
says mother
Apple is sweet
Even the skin's edible
Mother worships time.

3.
Mother hates beetroot.
It bleeds, it stains
It consumes time.
But
Beetroot's service.
It's for family
Sometimes I wonder
If it's my flesh, my blood
Words from mother.

4.
I write poetry in the kitchen
Notebook stained with beetroot juices of life
Love letters, too, should be written in the kitchen,
I tell myself.
For a lover yet to be found
I stack love letters dipped in beet juices.

5.
I think of childhood
Grief's stained my grandmother's off white nightie red
She's peeling pomegranates.
I walk towards her
Pearls of pomegranate pop under my feet
Her hands are stained
They are black
She's been peeling for so long
For me, ummachi?

6.
Mother,
I apologise.
Is it beet or is it anar
I don't know.
Let it be both
Is that fine?
I'm soaked in grief
It's slightly sweet at times
And it's red
Does anything else matter?

7.
Is grief a vegetable or a fruit?
Or is it both?
Is it to be eaten raw?

Where is my home?
I've been away,
Always.
Returning home,
Always.
I need to be home
Before midnight.
Dinner is late,
Already.
Are my children waiting?
Is there a husband?
Or, a wife?
Who's my family?
I've been seeking.

Is home a house or a tree?
Is it a tea stall or a river?

I need a room
of at least two walls
I've got ribbons to stick
pictures to hang
and people to welcome home.
I need a room
with floor and windows.
I've carpets from Delhi
curtains from Jaipur
Bookshelf's not necessary
Stacking books by the corner is fine
And some by the bed, to keep the warmth.

I need to be home.
It's heavy and I'm tired.

Christmas was two days ago
Unneesho* in my backpack
Christmas tree on Amazon wishlist
Plumcake under a tree
A piece for me
The rest, for squirrels of the world.

New year's near
how far is home?

Unneesho is *baby jesus in Malayalam

1.
A skirt that never stained red
Is a skirt I never owned

Red is the home I never wanted to be at
Red is the house I was born in
Red is the milk of the coconut I was bathed in
Red is the blanket that wrapped me around
Red is the lullaby mother sang in silence
A skirt that never stained red
Is a skirt I never owned

2.
In another life
My eyes were named Monsoon
And every month was November
November the third, being my favourite

A past lover asked
'which one's easier,
being monsoon
or being her lover?'
I never knew,
I was never her lover
I closed my eyes
and hummed a lullaby
mother always sang in silence
My eyes opened
And I was in my bed
And in another lifetime
And November the third never happened.

3.
I keep going back to where I came from

It's barren, yet colorful
The sand is pink
And the sky is green
But what are colors if not flowers
And what is the sky if not blue
Homesick is the closest I
ever get to home.