Sambhu Ramachandran

Gopal, twenty-six,

from Assam,

tears into a plate

of parotta and runny gravy.

Gopal— bricklayer, plumber,

and at times carpenter—extricates

a panacea for the snakebite of hunger

from the tortuous coils

of the greasy parotta.

Gopal, father of two, his lungs

populated by silica

and migrant communities of cement,

stares at the crispy whorls,

and sees for a brief moment

his destiny

encased within larger destinies

by hands he wishes to see,

perhaps smell

or touch.

Gopal, who is saving money

to build a house in his homeland,

devours the last morsel,

and feels it

settle like a rock in his stomach,

heavy enough to sink his hunger’s corpse

for a full day of anonymous labour.

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