Ramleela of my childhood

Years ago

before Ramleela 

became a sophisticated

affair and before

its staging mushroomed

all over the city, 

we travelled miles 

dressed in our best 

sequinned lehangas

with a charpai tied

to our blue-gray Fiat 

in order to reach 

the town’s best and 

only Ramleela. 

On a makeshift stage

in a pink and yellow 

marquee decorated with 

golden and silver tinsel, 

a motley group of actors 

wearing loud eyeshadow 

and ersatz Jewellery

donning masks and 

long tails often overacted,

but still managed to raise 

those goosebumps 

and stir our very souls. 

The shy and reticent 

bodybuilder carrying

clay model mountain  

revived Lakshman to

a collective cheer,

while the aggressive 

street betel-leaf seller 

stoically uttered words 

of Jamvad’s wisdom. 

The milky white fraternal 

twins easily enchanted 

the crowds as the most 

beloved Ayodhya Kumaras.

While a dainty Sita was 

always played by the 

comeliest of the teen boy. 

But it was the entry  

of the ten-headed Ravana 

with his loud guffaws and 

unapologetic swagger

that made people 

go wild with absolute enthusiasm. 

As the moon transformed

from a silvery thread into 

a waxing gibbous and 

the ten days passed by, 

the life’s ennui gave way to 

bellies full of aalu chaat 

and the last of season’s 

Pudina pani gol gappe

and playful hands busy with 

cherished souvenirs 

of cardboard maces 

and golden foiled bows 

with arrows neatly placed 

in silvery quivers.

-Neha Bansal