You entered my small house
But also nostalgic
We used to play here so much as kids
My wife served you plain dal and dry chapati
In my beggarly crockery
And you couldn’t believe I could treat a guest like that.
You were taken aback
By my irritating table habits
Though I remember us eating like that as kids together
You live in a larger house, you always did
You dine on a dining table with forks and knives
And the most expensive China
And you were annoyed by what you had to cope with here
In this ransacked house I own
Whose walls still have the “paintings”
We made as children.
You were so uncomfortable sitting cross legged on the floor
Although as a kid
You insisted your parents let you sit on the floor
At your large bungalow too
At dinner time.
I asked you to stay for the night
Like old times
When we shared a single, ragged blanket
But you stared at the humble bedding I had
“My wife must be waiting for me”
And I couldn’t help but smile at the thought
Of all those days in childhood
When your mom used to wait for you
But you wouldn’t listen.
I think we just grew up, I think we finally started seeing the boundaries between us.