Do Not Eat on the Metro
When I suck on the pit of a Himachali cherry
To get the last bits of flesh off it,
I knot the stems with my fingers.
Today is dreary.
Forgive me – this May afternoon is unforgiving.
Between my damp skin and thin shirt,
Heat lingers.
I want to nap on the ground floor.
I want to hold a hilly summer dream in my mouth,
Cooling me under my tongue,
With no Delhi sun beating down on me.
I want to lace my fingers with someone else’s
I want to knot our fingers together in dangerous places.
I want it to be gentle and soft,
Like the flesh of an overripe fruit.
As I glide by the purple-splotched orange skyline,
Ripe, cherry-sweet-and-tart thoughts fill my brain.
The tadak-tadak of train wheels lulls me to sleep,
Till a shrill drill whistle pierces my ears.
'Madam, do not eat on the metro’.
I jerk awake.
The cherries in my hand have rolled to the floor,
Crushed under commuters’ feet.
I am no madam.
No hands can be held today.
Request for Leave
Dear Title-in-charge,
I hope you are keeping well (hope you understand what it’s like to face a 13 hour-long power-cut in the middle of May, in Delhi.)
I am writing to request for leave from work. Last night the power went out. My ice packs have melted, my food has spoiled, I woke up sweaty and un-rested, I ran for a train and waited under the sun for an auto. Please forgive me, for my willpower, commitment and body cannot keep up with the weather and its record high temperatures.
I know. I know. Electricity will return. When it does, I, too, will have a working A/C, and I will complain about having to walk to the store in 38-degree weather. I know. I know. I have a fridge that I can stock with mango juice and buttermilk. I know, I know, I’m not suffering the most here this summer, this hottest summer yet.
I would prefer not to be outdoors at all. I would prefer not to travel each day and sap myself of energy before a lunch break. I can still (reluctantly) pitch in my tithe to the god of GDP.
You can’t change the weather. You are not responsible for what I read in the news (‘rising heat is the new climate issue,’ ‘hundreds of thousands of tonnes of bombs have increased global temperatures.’) but our conference room A/Cs stay on even when no one sits there.
Dear big fish, even if you are insulated in your 21-degree corner office from the office staff who come in to work after being crammed into a dusty bus with fetid air circulating through it, even if you’ve never swim through news of Mumbai sea levels rising, surely you empathize with someone like me, who can speak English, iron my clothes, and pronounce espresso correctly.
Give us all the month off.
With my warmest, warmest regards,
An employee whose name you won’t bother remembering
Esther Larisa is a mental health researcher by training. Their writing generally deals with themes of caste, indigeneity, gender, and religion. You can find Esther’s work in Proseterity Magazine, ‘We Come From Mist’ by Zubaan Books and ‘The Blaft Book of Anti-Caste SF’ by Blaft Publications. They currently teach anthropology and history to unwilling undergraduate students.