Yusuf asked Vidhi about her family and her background, and Vidhi was more than pleased to answer the questions. Vidhi told them that her great-grandmother was a German woman who had fallen in love with her great-grandfather. Their tea plantations spread across many acres. She said that her father kept attending conferences of SAARC writers and his collection of poems had won a prestigious South African award recently. His articles on literature and culture were regularly published in famous newspapers. Hina was listening to their conversation while savouring the food. When Vidhi told him about her interest in writing poetry, Yusuf pressed her to recite one of her poems. Vidhi wanted to push this to some other day, but Hina persuaded her to recite. There was no mischief in Hina’s eyes; she genuinely wanted her father to see Vidhi’s talent. Vidhi finally agreed:

Another Poem for You, My Beloved

I accumulate heat in my braided hair,

I unwind them when my mind unwinds,

Letting it out on you with an exfoliating tiredness,

Reposing in the alcoves you provide.

You are the sauna, also the spa,

Ceaselessly soothing me inside out.

I smoke you like my midnight cigarette,

Blending in your ashen rot.

Why so well your brain registers me?

How so fast can your cerebrospinal fluid rise?

Even when you know I’m the fanfare of unrest,

Always crumbling bread-like

I breathe in your Saturn ring-like dust specks, and the breathing gets heavier

My lungs release the enclosed darkness, they get pinker,

I say that when you caress my braid, and you pamper my ideas further.

One day I shall write about love. Only when this unending ballad is over.

I clean myself like you clean the rot, and my sight gets much clearer.

I love you like I love the coffee pot. It stays with me forever.

All three of them were silent for a while. A few words in the poem were new to Yusuf. Despite that, he had understood what the poem was trying to convey. In fact, he had never read English poetry before. Just once, when he was in Goa with Aymal, she had read out to him a few poems of Pablo Neruda and Emily Dickinson. A few verses of Neruda’s poem had touched him, and he was trying to recall them but could not. He praised Vidhi’s poem and then told her that he was trying to remember a few verses by Neruda when Vidhi said that he was her favourite poet! Hina took out a white rose from the vase kept on the table and presented it to Vidhi. Vidhi thanked her, though she had already read this poem out to Hina before. Yusuf realized that behind the poem was a strong, bold and opinionated mind. Yusuf was impressed by Vidhi’s self-confidence.