THE CARE TAKER.

With hot black tea,

And a news paper in hand,
Sat in his veranda, the dark brown man.
Though silver his hairs,
On the head and over the bare chest were,
He tried pompously to read,
Without his glasses put on.

He turned the page.
His wrinkled eyes met with
The news of a nun raped and murdered.
He turned the page.
His saliva dried, reading the news-
Of rising commodity prices!

He turned the page.
He was not shocked from the news of
Hindu bigotry, or Islamic terror,

Only a matter of neighbourhood.

He looked at his home and smiled.

He turned the page.

The news of Kerala’s largest river drying up,
Reminded him of his half filled well.

He turned the page.
At once his eyes stuck on a scene!
A police constable stabbed to death,
By the supporters of some political party!

He prayed for his son’s safety;
Who was a police constable;
And ran to the phone,
Dialed his son’s mobile number.
Someone said, from the other side:
“The number you are calling has been switched off.
Please try later.”

The page turned...