v4

The Idly Speaks to the 8-year-old in Ang Mo Kio

 

Why do you cry when you see me

at your Appatha’s home?  

 

I sit here, an empty canvas

ready to soak in 

the sunshine of sambar,

the blaze of chutney,

the blush of fish gravy.

 

Yet, you blanch whiter than me

when you spy me sitting

on the banana leaf.

 

To you, 

I am boring.

Too round, too soft, just bland. 

 

 “Idly again!” you moan.

 

But, you cannot just 

dip my edges gingerly, 

so I stay pale-bordered, pristine 

 

You need to dab me boldly,

let the colours seep in,

Only then will you see

 

I am NEVER ‘idly again’

You just need to know

how to paint with me.