there once was a house
that became a temple.
its concrete walls had veins
like a grandfather’s hands
and it hid behind coconut leaves,
too shy to greet us in its faded state.
in the eyes of the temple
(that was once a house),
we were a blurry film.
our larger bellies reminded it
of the overripe mango trees
that used to fill its lawns.
our creasing skin molded into
memories of skimmed milk,
floating on top of over sugared chai.
the gurus on the walls
faded into photos of children
with questionable shirts that said
“i like to squish things!” -
which was true, for the record!
you can almost feel
how loved their parents felt,
being squished so tightly
by small, clingy arms.
we were different back then,
so the temple was confused.
our foreheads were tighter,
our glances more fearful.
our moods changed with the
seasons,
and our love took a while to settle -
like two people trying to get comfortable
on a one-seater couch.
our love is gentler now,
slower like the small rivers of
white
flowing through our hair.
so the temple was confused,
but soon it remembered
that it once was a house.
or rather, a home, built by us.
overflowing with so much love
that even children from other houses
can drink and drink and drink,
until they themselves became a home.
---
inspired by portraits from the khattar family day-to-day life, our family trip to india, and the chandigarh house the khattars used to live in - which has now been converted into a temple.