When the last recalcitrant Delhiite has choked on his firecrackers and blamed the farmers of Punjab; When the abused cow has looked on bemusedly at the Vasu Baras worshippers; When the Made-in-China lights have either electrocuted the middle child or died altogether; When the brothers are back home after hearing subtle dowry demands from their brothers-in-law; When the tacky gold jewelry of dubious caratage bought under Akshaya Tritiya has induced buyer's regret; When the unopened boxes of soan papdi have turned rancid and been given to sundry watchmen, postmen, maids and drivers; When the holy librandus have argued themselves sore over the environment; When the bizarre-most of kandeels have caused nervous desensitization; When the same kitschy fiber "gifting" has made its final round and cracked unusably; When the vegan has gotten off their high horse to sneak "just one" kaju katli; When the toes of both feet have joined the fingers of both hands in being burne...
The message is supreme;
Born in the heart,
and lilting itself
from tongue to tongue,
throwing its scent
over wind and wave;
travelling on dots
or fingers
when blindness
or silence bar its way.
It hews itself into stone
or burns itself onto magnetic discs;
it is the message that lives
and I exist
solely to pass it on.