Aneesh Sathe

Author: Aneesh Sathe

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  • Sheep goes? Baa! Cow goesā€¦.

    Little feet waddle over the bookshelf. Little hands grab books made for little hands. Itā€™s his favourite, a cardboard box of four books: numbers, animal sounds, alphabet, and objects. Illustrated by Eric Carle, each page has one a lovely illustration accompanied by one or two words. We pick a book, as we do several times a day and what feels like several hundred times on the weekends. Usually the routine goes we open a book, I point at the picture and say the word often with some sound effects. Usually Aarin makes encouraging noises, stays till page four then goes and does the next thing but not today. Today is different.

    Feet waddle, hands grab, a book is selected. Itā€™s animal sounds. I flip to the first page, itā€™s a picture of a sheep with the word ā€˜sheepā€™ under it. This is no surprise of course, being thatā€™s itā€™s a book for infants the mystery is kept to a minimum. Like so many times before I point to the sheep and say “this is a sheep, and sheep goes Baa!”. Then I repeat this time with a questioning tone “Sheep goesā€¦.”. Pause for effect and I normally answer myself “Baa!” Not today. Today Aarin has a big smile and a giant loud exuberant “BAAA!” thunders forth from his little mouth. Heā€™s done it! Heā€™s learnt something and Iā€™m proud, over the moon even!

    Convinced my child is a genius I point to the next page. Spotting a cow, are also known for a lunar missions, I ask “Cow goesā€¦?” And of course he confidently opens his mouth, as I knew he would and proclaims: “BAAA!”

    Yup, cow goes baa!

    That was several weeks ago, for a while everything went Baa! Now Aarin knows several words, cats go miaou, cows go moo, and bellybuttons are found under peopleā€™s shirts. While Iā€™m happy with his progress, Iā€™m also a little sad because the cow going baa moment all too short.

    All the animals in Aarinā€™s world make the proper sounds now. In my heart though, there will always be a little pasture saved just for the cow that goes baa!

  • Orcas in the Afternoon

    Orcas in the Afternoon

    We've been around since dawn 
And our day is yet long 
We were lucky 
To have Orcas 
In the afternoon
    Before our huts
Of fire, steel, and stone
This Earth strode alone
Palaces
Of light, blood, and bone
    Ever changing, yet ever same
Characters with shared masks
But a different name
    At the tips of pyramids,
The giants dance.
Even as we steal the bricks,
For a second
Of prosperity's glance
    Our murderers are microscopic,
They train their harpoon.
We were lucky
To have Orcas
In the afternoon

  • Of the World’s Sounds

    I carry,
    The world’s sounds with me.
    A cat’s satisfied purr,
    On a hot day the fan’s whirr

  • Leech

  • Ours to Light up, Ours to Burn


    She is the hot-headed matchstick

    And I the rough red side
    Of a matchbox.
    Forever we tease each otherĀ 
    About how with theĀ 
    Littlest effort a flame
    We could make.
    But content with this knowledge,
    We sit as friends side by side
    Laughing
    And Jeering at the world
    For it is ours to light up
    And ours to burn.Ā 

  • Ambitions

    Blades of grass
    With redwood dreams
    Compost feasts
    And sunlight creams
    Dedicated stem
    And a piece of the sky
    An apical bud to reach ever high
    No more dainty flowers
    No more depressed clones
    Only the best of xylem
    For her darling cones

  • The Toothpick

    The toothpick of proprietyĀ 
    From this sandwich shall fall
    After the teeth of age
    Have gnawed at bits
    And Life digested
    The bread away
    Then layers
    Unravel
    Squishy bits
    Return to clay

    ____________________________________
    Child-like drawing-me

  • *Purple (The Purple Pointer)



    The rain has fallen.

    Giving way to the shoots of memories,Ā 
    Strewn along the tar roads, years deep
    The sky takes on a peculiar character,Ā 
    With the clouds quite unwilling to retire,
    But ushered out nonetheless
    Between the armsĀ Ā 
    Of the sensuous purple sky,
    And the slow breezeĀ 
    Which takes care to weave itself,Ā 
    Between every, strand of her hair.
    The past has manifested as a moodĀ 
    Not only on our small window to the universeĀ 
    But also, wondrously, on her dimplesĀ 
    And the meditations of her softly cornered lipsĀ 
    And so,
    We lock ourselves within wallsĀ 
    Through which there is no entranceĀ 
    Except by knowing the exact path takenĀ 
    That other purple evening.
    _____________________
    Image: As, everĀ Santosh