'Where did he go?'

'Where did he go?' - a first draft

Over a month now,
I miss him
Where did he go?
My aaku koora person,
my leafy vegetables vendor
For three years now
His feet have marked our road
His voice has given the morning
Its verdant smile
Except for a rare day

Body as puny as a child’s
Skin the colour of bitter chocolate
Coarse dark hair brushed back,
When not subdued by hair oil,
Stray to the forehead in spirited tufts
Or stand up on the top of the scalp
like a coaled peacock feather
One hand polio-stunted
As small as a child’s
Dirt winks from under the fingernails
He walks his bicycle
All bones with its rattle and clang
Calls out in a voice strong
As a brawny young man’s,
‘Aaku kooralu amma, Aaka kooralu …
Methi, palak, kothmir, karve paak…’
The call marks time – a half past eight,
Or earlier
So much coziness in this routine
That seldom goes awry

On nippier mornings
He sports a child’s school sweater
Navy blue with white bands
The colours have aged
Frequent washings squeezed out
Their freshness
A handloom towel
Knotted around his head
To keep the cold at bay
Is his drab crown
On rainy mornings
A plastic bag like a jester’s cap
Shields his head
Its crushed transparency
Mottled with raindrops.

One day, I tell him,
My aaku koora person,
‘Take this kadipatta
It’s from my garden
Sell it
Make some money for you.’
Hand him a capacious plastic bag
Overflowing with aromatic leaves
Appetite stimulating charms
In abundance
He looks at me in disbelief
The widening smile festoons
His crinkled face
And I, who would have
Someone pluck stars to festoon
The doorways of my life
And light up the thresholds
Of its festive moments
Feel humbled … for several lifetimes.

Where did he go,
my aaku koora person?
To his village I hope
Or to some other colony
To offer his leafy freshness
I thrust away all fears
About his well-being
And ask God to bless him
Who blessed my mornings
with fresh offerings of greens
And more