The Tourist Guide

Slurping on the cool gelato ice-cream, we toured the city,
for five days, like wispy clouds wandering over land and sea,
before bidding goodbye, the tourist guide said ‘H S Me’-
after enough doses of his monologue, we knew he meant ‘Excuse Me’,

Locking eyes with my husband, he launched into a solemn soliloquy,
‘You should be kind to your wife, if she gets moody,
she may crave for anything from coconut water to tutti-frutti,
not her fault, it would all be because of the baby’

‘No such plans,’ we wanted to say. Instead, we waved heartily
and tucked the free advice, between memories of the beautiful city.



With love, from a toddler to a writer mother

I jump onto your lap, trying to catch your attention
‘Mama,’ I shout in your ear, as you write
I sing and stomp, bawl and dance, hoping to be a distraction
I jump onto your lap, trying to catch your attention
By planting a wet kiss on your cheek to show my affection
But the pen and paper do not leave your line of sight
I jump on your lap, trying to catch your attention
‘Mama,’ I shout in your ear, as you write

Preeth Ganapathy

If you have any thoughts on these poems, Preeth Ganapathy would be pleased to hear them.