The wall
  Vol II : issue 4

  Jean-Luc Nancy
  Arun Kolatkar
  Gulzar
  Victor Rangel-Ribeiro
  New writing
  Only in Print

Watercolour, acrylic and marble dust on canvas by ATUL DODIYA

Arun Kolatkar

I wish bon appetit

to the frail old fisherwoman

(tiny,

she is no more than just

an armload of bones

grown weightless over the years

and caught

in a net of wrinkles)

who, on her way to the market,

has stopped

to have a quick breakfast

in a hole-in-the-wall teashop,

and is sitting hunched

over a plate of chickpeas

— her favourite dish —

on a shaky table,

tearing a piece of bread

with her sharp claws

to soak it in the thin gravy

flecked with red chilli peppers;

and whose mouth is watering

at this very moment, I bet,

for I can almost taste

her saliva

in my mouth.

And I wish bon appetit

to that scrawny little

motheaten kitten

(so famished it can barely stand;

stringy tail,

bald patch on grungey back,

white skin showing through sparse fur)

that, having emerged

from a small pile of rubbish nearby,

and slipped once

on a bit of onion skin,

has been making its way,

slowly but unerringly,

towards the shallow basket

full of shrimps

— left outside on the pavement by the fisherwoman —

has finally managed

to get there,

raised itself on its hindlegs,

put its dirty paws

on the edge of the basket,

and kissed

its first shrimp.