The first day I saw CHUNGI,

Dancing along the foot of Ramesh,

It was like a flower laced with black charcoal,

Like a monochromatic fire cracker paused for a while,

And the colour inverted into eyes,

Going up, down, again up down,

Like a Yo-yo held with foot,

I asked, “How you made it, Yaar?”

And his answer made ‘Him’ furious,

‘Him’, Not Ramesh

But my father,

When I cut the newly brought cycle tube into rubber bands,

One by one, held them together through my finger, tied them and there was my ‘CHUNGI’,

Those tubes, were now more relaxed, more free, free from pressure of hot air,

And that was all because of this ‘Godfather’,

CHUNGI, I knew, it would be like an ‘Olympic champion’ if there had been any competition.

One, two, three…,

One, twoo…,

I was now doing like Ramesh was doing, up down up down…,

But it was not resonating with my feet,

Next day,

Me and my Chungi entering the school,

Touched by an unknown happiness, pride and a feeling like you have conquered everything,

“Ramesh, look this Chungi is better and bigger than yours, see how I hold this out”,

All in a breath,

But my Chungi betrayed me,

Went well with Ramesh and with me,


As if there was the unheard curse of the bicycle tires,

As if it fell in love with his Chungi,

My Chungi denied resonating with me,

With my foot,

And, all at once I was like, “This stupid thing is not for me.”


2 thoughts on “Chungi

  1. I had my chances in those days
    to make it dance on my feet.
    But in those tiers of plays
    mostly I had to taste the defeat.

    I realized it as not my game
    and no need to rise my desire.
    Will it add to my glory and fame
    when I have other means to me higher.

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