I never forget that day,
When I sneaked upstairs,
into my Grandfather’s room, and
and stole a five-rupee bill,
from his worn kurta’s secret pocket,
hung on the rusty nail, by the wooden pillar,
in the middle of the rainy night,
when everybody was asleep.
I returned home quietly,
After having spent all the money,
head down, both legs trembling with fear,
I never ran away.
Without a single word,
with a curved black moustache,
He held me by my right ear and,
Walked with me all the way down,
To the sweet shop that,
sold sweets in jars,
where I spent all the money.
He held my right ear
so hard that,
In my late forties,
I can feel my right ear lobe,