A sea of faces at the airport dressed in Sunday best
Flowers for frozen Amit with bag clutched to his chest.
Boston seemed remote, air-conditioned, empty space
Bombay, warm and humid was such a different place.
Well-meaning aunts and uncles, curiosity ill-suppressed,
Vied to set the motherless boy from the broken home at rest.
The taxi rattled down the road, the boy was hardly set
For the latest chapter in his life, with doubts and fears beset.
Worlds apart from summer camp was aunt and uncle’s home
A teeming hub of chattering cousins hitherto unknown.
Amit spied his aunty’s eyes had an unfamiliar look,
A glow that lit the tiny flat and shone from every nook.
She bustled, fussed from dawn to dusk and in her manner lay
A quiet reassurance – a hearth on a winter’s day.
Empty walls transformed by nimble fingers and lined face
Into a living, breathing, haven endowed with simple grace.
‘Criss-cross cherry biscuits
To show my feelings true,
The crosses are for kisses
The cherries for I love you.’
She baked and sang one morning, wiping the streaming sweat,
Gave him a piping hot biscuit that hadn’t hardened yet.
It burnt his tongue and pierced his heart, as tears began to flow-
The jig-saw puzzle of his life began to bond and grow.
The bitter pent up feelings faded of their accord,
As regaled with tales on aunty’s knee the ice in Amit thawed.
Hours of sun and friendship with his cousins did the rest
Blue skies and salty summer air, Bombay at its best.
A kaleidoscope of sights and sounds smote his mind by day,
And lulled him into thinking that he was there to stay.
All too soon it ended and at the airport once again
Stood a warmer, stronger boy this time, with a tremble in his chin.
He waved goodbye to aunty with a look that matched her own,
Poured out volumes without speaking, next moment he was gone.
Help comes when least expected, like manna from above
Like aunty’s homemade biscuits sugar sweet with love.
‘Criss-cross cherry biscuits
To show my feelings true
The crosses are for kisses
The cherries for I love you.’