Taiwan, During Covid Restrictions Poem by Devesh Path Sariya

(1)

Across the road, a man and a woman stand,
The woman faces towards me,
while the man faces away.

Words escape the man's mouth,
painting a mesmerizing smile
across the woman's face.
However, as she catches sight of my glance,
she swiftly pulls her mask up,
reminiscent of the ladies in our Indian villages,
who cover their faces upon sensing the presence of an elder.

A part of me yearned to utter,
'Let the mask be, '
yet I hesitated, restraining my words.

It has been far too long
since I last witnessed the sight of a smiling Asian face.

(2)

After a span of fifteen days,
I once again encountered them,
occupying the familiar corner of the street,
engrossed in conversation with one another.

Their matching uniforms hint at a shared workplace,
where the mingling of breaths may be unavoidable.
Perhaps that's why they seemed unconcerned about not wearing masks
in this designated talking-corner of theirs.

Maintaining a safe distance,
I raised my hand in a friendly wave towards them.
In response, a stunning smile bloomed on her face,
while her mask gently hung from her chin.

(3)

I am a photographer
who captures the pulsing of life
in the alleys and streets.

Yet now, the once bustling streets lie deserted,
exuding an eerie and intense stillness.

In this unusual scene, a sight catches my eye.
A middle-aged man occupies one of the park benches,
adorned solely in a trouser and a vest,
his lips forming rings of smoke.

With my camera in hand, I direct my focus towards him,
zooming in to capture his essence.
But to my surprise, the man, swift and perceptive,
intercepts my attempt and dismisses me mid-air.

His actions stem from a deep-rooted fear,
concerned about the repercussions of a photograph,
portraying him without the obligatory mask.

Observing this interaction,
an elderly gardener, toiling nearby,
pauses his trowel and gazes on.

As a consolation, I divert my attention,
capturing images of garlic drying outside a house,
alongside weathered plastic chairs,
imbued with a sense of nostalgia and resilience.

(4)

Startled by the approaching sound of a police van,
someone hastily fled the scene,
carelessly discarding an unfinished cigarette onto the street.

I'm well aware that cigarette smoke can be contagious as well.

It is a tranquil June night,
the gentle drizzle having just ceased,
leaving behind a refreshing breeze in its aftermath.
The discarded cigarette sways and twirls in response,
continuing to burn despite its abandonment.

With a determined step,
I tread upon it, put it off.

(5)


Upon the railway's overbridge, a man stands,
his attention fixed on capturing the desolate tracks.

Though his camera and lens may be modest,
photography transcends the realm of high-end equipment.
The true advantage of the wealthy lies in their ability
to manipulate the landscape or capture superior shots at night, aided by tripods.

Yet, the essence of photography remains unchanged
for a photograph is first gets captured in the mind

I am a photographer of a different ilk.

The man's eyes scan the deserted tracks,
their gaze piercing the distance until fading into a haze.

I too am a photographer,
yet, speaking of my peculiarities seems futile,
for my camera lies dormant, untouched in my room.

(6)

This year's convocation has regrettably been canceled,
despite the university already distributing robes and caps.
Effigies were placed on the library lawn,
amidst the Sakura, Amaltas, and Gulmohar trees,
providing an opportunity for people to capture memorable photographs.

Occasionally, fresh graduates can be spotted
adorned in robes, caps, and masks,
seeking picturesque locations beyond the designated effigy areas.

Sadly, the meticulously crafted effigies,
born out of fervent enthusiasm,
now bear the marks of bird faeces.

(7)

Due to variations in pronunciation,
Zhubei can also be pronounced as Chupei,
a deviation from its usual spelling-based enunciation
that initially unsettled me.

Zhubei's neighboring town is Hsinchu,
similar to the relationship between Machari and Rajgarh.

While Hsinchu has recently reported a surge in infections,
the physiotherapy clinic only operates here,
opening on Saturday evenings,
while I personally grapple with two slipped discs in my spine.

On the way back,
I purchased sliced pineapple,
Passion Fruit Juice from 'Coco, '
and bread from RT Bakery.

Before entering any establishment,
a QR code must be scanned using a mobile phone,
allowing the government to track movements
and trace the footsteps of the infected.

I choose not to enter the Indian restaurant next to the bakery,
despite ongoing discounts,
as it remains costly,
and my financial situation has not seen any savings in months.

(Translation from Hindi by Shivam Tomar)