Dumur

A poem about food, love, and madness

Originally published in Issue 3 of The Fig Tree Magazine. Read the original here!

Ma and I stop by Saraswati Indian Grocers to pick up 
two mehndi cones, powdered Holi colours, and a tub of 
mango kulfi. We find Alok Uncle in the back, haggling 
over the price of hard, green figs. He tells us that figs are 
the healthiest thing a person could possibly eat. He tells us 
that they could cure diabetes and cancer and every type of 
mental illness. He tells us that his wife is unwell, that she 
speaks in nonsensical combinations of Bangla and Hindi 
and English, that she won’t cook or bathe or get out of 
bed. He tells us that her nurses can’t understand what 
she’s trying to say, or why the male doctors send her into 
a spiral, or why she’d rather starve than live off of watery 
chicken broth and steamed peas. He tells us they’re going 
back to India next month, where madness means something.
He leaves with three bags full of figs and a box of pakoras.