Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
My grandfather went to great lengths
To acquire the Imperial Leather soap
– a rarity and a wasteful luxury
In our eighties Marathi-tongued
Kannada town –
Indian soaps, he said, were hard
And abrasive and smelled
Too much of jasmine or rose.
The soap had a sticker on it
And when one was worn down
A new one was pressed onto its slivers
Sticker and all;
Bar upon new bar of soap
Went into the dish
Until the whole thing was reduced
To an unholy lump scattered with
Black and red stickers.
‘Does it’ I asked him, ‘make our skin like leather?’
‘It is lather misspelt’ he said.
‘The English are bad spellers.’
I think my grandfather was an imperialist.