Wednesday, 1 October 2008

my son

eighteen-year-old vishnu
in between lessons
pumps twelve-kg dumbbells
talks of calories over breakfast
how much ronnie coleman takes
and how much arnold schwarzenegger
what their workout schedules are
hauls big sister lakshmi’s big almirah
at her bidding
from corner to corner
not as handsome as his pop
as mom often tells him
with a wink
so he won't feel crushed
facing the reality
but a nice-looking chap all the same
a wiry clean-shaven oak tree grimacing
as though in a bout of dyspepsia
which is misleading
has the best of digestions
takes the bull by the horns
for anybody
has more than three score friends I know of
some of them bodybuilders
sheer brains and wizardry
damn good chaps each one of them
bowls leg spin and googlies
mixing them with flippers
a stickler for style
with flicks and cuts and drives
or flexing biceps
the size of tomatoes
tapping the belly
six-pack cutting
can walk on hands and wriggle his ears
a great hit with all the girls
below the age of sixteen
his friend trivikram tells me
behind his back
uncle be careful
keep a watch
and don't tell i told