Arunachalam Angappan		"THE BACKBONE OF ECONOMY"               We feed the forges and furnaces            unsensing the flames that avidly lick us.         We tartop the roads that         burn our soles like hellfires.         We risk our limbs to make          everything for you from         pins to joshmachines.                  We build you against the elements         exposing us to the skies         day and night, to the         scorching sun and the freezing fog.         We fix the pot and tile the bath         for you but we ourselves         bathe and defecate in the open.         We decorate your chambers to play magic         on your nocturnal nerves but let subways         and platforms play it on our womenfolk.         All this we do for the pleasure you call us         the backbone of economy and         the makers and rulers of this largest democracy.		EAST OR WEST, HOME IS BEST                          Scorpion-stings. I bore.                         Grumblingly though.             Kept me ready on toes and wings             your glances to fulfill.                          Of course darts few let I fly at you             true to astrology--Scorpion vs. Sagittarian.             Not made for each other.             But life was sweet still, wasn’t it, my dear?             Like the purple grapes of Yemen.             Sweet. Fresh. Chill. Tingling. In the mouth.                          We lived. Amidst differences.             Quarrels. Bickers.             Irritations. Jealousies             Wriggling out caught ogling.                          Not a garden of roses.             Still we lived. And loved, too.             Didn’t we, my dears?                          Always displeased with him.             Always bossing over me.             As if he a page-boy, I an abdo1.                          What was then unclear is clear now.             The veneer penetrated,             reality glitters gold-like.             Worth is understood in separation.                          But love! We lived.             Amidst differences.             And sun shone then.             Poor child! You stung him.             Full of wisdom tender.             I banged him, too.                          A wanton elf. Took it “just like that” way.             That was life. We all lived.             Amidst differences. Hurts. Lively. Lovely.                          You queen Bilquees of Yemen;             I king Solomon, the wise and             he the infant prodigy.                          A garden in bloom. A rose garden.             Multi-hued. Prickly-thorned, though.                          What about those saplings?             Roses, hibiscus, neem and pungan2?             Do they waver east and west, south and north?             To look for me? Wavering. Watching.             Grow high and tall to ken beyond the seas?             A sprout new each day. They put forth.             The plants lived. We lived, too.             The ticklish tingle rings in the ear still.             What a tingle in the tips and toes and             the hair-roots, too.             Evening after evening.             To pick you up at the bus-station.             At full throttle only to cold stares.           Poor me, helpless. Not intentional. You knew, too.             Some officious friend, at each turn and bend.             Couldn’t avoid. Traffic snarls. Couldn’t help.             Part of life. Global phenomenon.             Sorry dear, I knew how awkward it was.             Quite embarrassing.             Oh! Those pantomime stares.             Showered volleys of feelings.             I loved, frightened though.             Life was beautiful--together.             Soured though by myriad irritants.             We were irascible. All the three. Iridescent, too.             Every evening. Moment of moments.             Full of frights. Feigned and real.             Joys. Angers. Tempers cold and hot.             Each evening pregnant with possibilities.             We loved them.             Darlings! We loved one another.