Sarai Rohilla

A poem as slow-moving and gentle as a train ride with the narrator through Sarai Rohilla — looking back at a pastoral station, fragments of departure and arrival to the city.

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1.	First 
Not a place where a story begins nor where it ends
A place of waiting and waning in Sarai Rohilla
It’s a story of rest but never resting in peace because it is Sarai Rohilla
A sharp turn before a flyover and a few meters away
An address of amends where broken memories stay
It was a people’s paradise but for me it will always be Sarai Rohilla  
A rhythm of then, now and next, tasting like an old bitter tequila 

2.	Second
An in between, a layover, Sarai Rohilla was to be 
A Persian name to an inn, a historian’s forgotten search, I still seek me
A railway station for those who knew, just nothing to those passing by with no clue
Early winter dawns on empty station benches, I remember cold reaching me
Farewells meant stuffing money in my palms, embracing my being, love felt like glee
I fancied the near station, faraway dreams were always let go, I never found any key
Yet the journey for me was a kundalini awakening in slow mo, I lived as a refugee
A long way still to home, Sarai Rohilla, where am I meant to be?

3.	Third 
A city like Delhi, New Delhi its crown, a capital of my country 
The busiest of centres, on the brink of fancy, lived in the centre of bounty 
Backseat royalty, my father’s car, never thought of any laundry 
The meter of metropolitan, big buildings, eating food from my pantry 
Days of no care, open air, where progress smelled like a foundry
The window of my balcony, landscape of trees, living in my own county
A Labyrinth of fate, fearful of a maze, my residence built in masonry 
Too young to remember, too old to forget, a wasted life in vanity

4.	Fourth
Relatives came to stay, to catch a train the next day 
They brought us sweets and some memories sour, all for the station not so far 
I saw them only once, then decades later heard they married and had kids better
Never gave a thought to where they came from or what for, all had a suitcase but no letter 
Some stayed for exams, to build living ways, but all left after a shatter
Simple days became surreal, my mother’s kitchen aroma, her making golden weather
Packing the gifts my father bought for the family back home, holding us all together 
They all left, leaving behind a mental archive of echoes and hopes like a feather

5.	Fifth
At 13, I didn’t know where I was yet I did not know it was what it was  
Made some friends but never talked to them again as I was at a loss
The bungalows, the balcony, the garden, the gates and all the new social laws 
I learnt and let go a few but my new world order had me at a cross 
Navigated the temple and the tempers but never learned how to pause 
The school days, the sundown games and sleeping before moon’s clause 
A new life, a new home and never felt like I had a new boss
At 13, I didn’t know where I was yet did not know I won the safest heaven in a toss

© Swati Bohra