Thursday, May 7, 2015


When a foodie friend travels and flies to "Wordsworth country" at the height of the Indian Mango season thousands of miles away, and poses thoughtfully , at the window sill of Mr Wordsworth's house at Dove Cottage, Grasemere, it isn't very difficult to imagine what she could be thinking.

And I can tell you , with respectful apologies to Shri William Wordsworth, that it is probably NOT daffodils.

I wandered with the young one in the cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and seas,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of Hapoos laden trees
Beside the Khaadi ***, hanging on trees,
Languorously moving in the breeze.

Golden as the jewels that shine
And twinkle on women in wedding halls,
They hid amidst green paithanees***** in line
Shooing off birds, avoiding sudden falls;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Preening on trees in wilambit**** dance.

The petis* beside them waited; but they
simply rushed in there in glee:
A khawaiyee** could not but be gay,
In such a sweet summer company:
I gazed- and gazed- but little thought
What appetite to me they had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In hungry or in homesick mood,
Nostalgic tastes so make me cry
And I crave for Indian Summer food;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
As I see Hapoos on Wordsworthian window sills..

*petis =  mango packing boxes
**Khawaiyee =  Connoisseur of food
***  Khadi = creek 
**** wilambit =  slow tempo 
*****Paithanees  =  maharashtrian silk traditional sarees

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