Daily Poems by Pungidasa

He was there everyday just near the tree,
His van parked perfectly in the most busy part of the market.

His Puliogre plate was the manifestation of miracles,
The salt, the sourness, the taste, the fragrance was all just too irresistible...

There was always a line near the green trees, waiting in line to have their piece of life giving Puliogre.

Ajja as he was famously called made the most gracious of lunches,
Thirty rupees a plate would fill your belly and leave you with a smile. That was without fail.

Everyday like clockwork, he would come, just when the sun was at his peak and the green canopy provided more respite.

Everyone was infatuated, the moment they has a bite, exploring for groundnuts bit by bit!

By three, the plates washed, bellies filled, contentment washing all over his bearded face, Ajja would go home and narrate the events to his daughter, who was the cook.

And I would come each day,
To savour the offerings and go home fully satiated.

He could never be missed,
Always on time.. The lunch bell at my LIC office would ring and Ajja would be there I know.

This Puliogre reminded me of home. Reminded me of my Ajja and Ajji everytime.