by Mayur Chauhan

Mayur Chauhan, *Dreams & Dreamers,* Micron pens and printer paper, 8.5 x 11 inches, 2019. Courtesy of the artist.

brief moments

of infinite delight

Mayur Chauhan | NOV 2024 | Issue 39

I Remember / I Don’t Remember

I remember school
I don’t remember learning.

I remember neem tree by window-seat
I don’t remember regurgitation stirring.

I remember a temple a church
I don’t remember being worshiped.

I remember getting in n out of trouble
I don’t remember what else I purchased.

I remember hitting last-ball six n win a match
I don’t remember if the ball met gravity or missed.

I remember once a dog bit me
I don’t remember if I bit the dog or kissed.

I remember every Hindi song from the 90’s
I don’t remember what became of mixed-tapes.

I remember Papajee got my first wrist-watch
I don’t remember bad or sad times of any shape.

I remember my first croissant mid-air in a Continental flight
I don’t remember ‘random’ immigration inspections for spices.

I remember my brother gave me a fifty-rupee note for lunch
I don’t remember feeling that rich again.

I remember the red scarf she wore when we first met
I don’t remember New York being quieter ever again.

I remember maa’s sweat in that windowless kitchen
I don’t remember her missing a single meal or chore.

I remember Papajee shielding me in Delhi rains
I don’t remember why rain isn’t wet anymore.

I remember the song of my wings when I fly
I don’t remember anyone who looked me down.

I remember the magic, the magic, the magic
I don’t remember the trick, the trickster or the town.

I remember, my beloved, each time, getting up
I don’t remember falls making sense.

I remember you, my love, from the beginning of time
I don’t remember anything else.

cause & effect

it rains in delhi
maa makes pakoras
maa makes pakoras
it rains in delhi

my divine love breaks the 4th wall

drops of rain on my face remind me of you
a town full of people, stories and you

i try hard to find a rhyme that is not you
dreams become nightmares without you

a very early class, an early lecture
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u

if I could name things, places, people
i would name trees yew and everything else you

is this a love poem or is it my life, they ask
what’s the difference I ask you

deewana, paagal, shayar, crazy, insane, poet
world calls me whenever I call upon you

are you of this world or of all the worlds
my beloved divine love are all the worlds in you

haven’t you seen a butterfly hovering over a river
when I look through my eyes I see for you

there’s a line connecting beyond cosmic horizons
many names for it and one name is you

you are my lover, my friend, my angel, my love
you are me and spoiler alert I am you

of all possible timelines this is my favorite
because in this timeline I meet you

i know what becomes of stories like mine
beginning, middle and the end is you

how can anyone make up for the time lost
does it matter now that I have found you

no questions asked no answers necessary
all prayers answered in the form of you

Mayur Chauhan, *hangers*, digital (street) photograph, 2024. Courtesy of the artist.

brief moment of infinite delight

Yesterday, after grocery shopping I ordered mediterranean for lunch because I was hungry and tired and for whatever reason — get this, sad. ‘Tis the season after all.

I ordered the lunch special Chicken Shawarma with rice but not salad. I asked for extra bread, instead if possible, and also ordered 6 side portions of garlic sauce, 2 hummus and baklava for dessert.

A man walked in, white mustache, big presence, a regular, sat at a table I think was his usual. He got his complimentary bread right away.

Arabic music played as two men walked in, for a takeout for Omar, it was ready. I joked don’t you love it? Your food is ready as soon as you walk in. They smiled, agreed, the one with longer hair loved my comment more than the one with a hat.

They left and a man in black (neither Will Smith nor Tommy Lee Jones) walked in, sat at the bar table next to where I waited, without looking at the menu he ordered a greek salad, cauliflower and bread.

I asked him if he always orders that and he said he does. The cauliflower is the best. He’s taking some for his coworkers too. Because communal flatulence is fun, I thought.

He doesn’t eat meat, he said. I wondered if the milk in my car would be okay while I waited.

I had in my hand the menu of JoJo’s Mediterranean Lebanese restaurant. I saw the owner back in the kitchen on a video-call with a loved one, I thought? I wanted to check-in with him. Does he have family back in Beirut? I wanted to give him a hug. I thought of my family in India. I also wanted to make sure there’s the right count of garlic sauce with my order.

I picked the ginger and the carrots from the street that came right out as I opened the car trunk. A lady in a red car let me merge lanes. Of course there was one less garlic sauce.

But what I’m trying to say is, what I’m really trying to say is that the baklava made up for all of it. So if I could, I’d bring baklava for all of you everywhere.

Mayur Chauhan, *Callery pear*, digital *collage*, 2024. Courtesy of the artist.

happy bubbles

It’s not because
there’s no washing machine in our building - there is
the small talk with strangers isn’t worth it - it is

I love your shoes what are
you reading you dropped socks
are you using the dryer I bought
coffee for you i have quarters Angelique
how’s your mom still in Arizona

It’s not because
it’s not mesmerizing to look at clothes drying - it is
the clothes get extra clean - they don’t

It’s because
outside this laundromat
there’s a Callery pear tree
some leaves dead some not
branches with their knots
flowers blooming n what not
call my name in the voice of my
Papajee

new gym, who dis?

welcome to the southmost valley fitness center
you’re welcome here, today and all the other days
except sundays
and holidays
or before 7 in the morning
or after 8 at night
saturdays we close early, like before opening, even,
mondays are too much to open on time, or at all,
especially since the investigation
if you ARE here on Tuesdays, the key is under the rug, alarm code: YRUHEREPound
ignore anything suspicious
wednesdays, we all take much deserving, mid-week break
thursdays rest days, we practice what we teach
miss one Friday, you’re not welcome here, we post your picture on the walls
so others know how lazy you are
other than that,
we look forward to having you here
payment due now

Mayur Chauhan, *chairs*, digital (street) photograph, 2024. Courtesy of the artist.

imagined conversations

voracious
capacious
rapacious
ferocious
gracious
flirtatious
salacious
delicious
lubricious
auspicious
mendacious
malicious
vicious
vivacious
auspicious
bodacious
precocious
sagacious
judicious
officious
conscious
spacious
avaricious
ludicrous
fallacious
atrocious
perspicacious
ambitious
loquacious
tenacious
all day
every day
I win some
they lose some

wishful thinking

hummingbird blooming magnolias cawing crow
2 cars wind clouds
couple hold hands
woman walks dog
another carries a child
lawn mower works
a building standing tall cars parked on both sides
biker avoids people
umbrella cast aside
TV sits on street
driver waits for ride
ice-cream seller bites
his lower lip
how I wish you see what I see from this window

peak summer in LA

every evening
around sunset
Jesus and I compete
to water plants
in garden neither
his nor mine
I let him win
somedays
magnolia trees with burning leaves
pink camellia flowers thirsty
several lines of buddhist pinea
singing birds of paradise
cypress spurge purges urges
yellow grass dreams green
rows of mint roses mint roses
somedays
I hold hose above my head
aim water high enough to
reach the leaves of
a mango tree in the house
I grew up

Mayur Chauhan, *states of mind,* Micron pens and printer paper, 8.5 x 11 inches, 2019. Courtesy of the artist.

three stages of prayer

I
sit with your family encircle the fire pit
recite sanskrit mantras
listen
to the holy
kitchen-smell call your name
mannu mannu mannu i know you can
hear me psspss
smell kachoris deep fried wish you
could swim or fly
hear each kachori sizzling hissing
craving
your attention

II
watch ghee camphor match
turn firewood into fire
faith fire fire faith
close your eyes recall stolen taste of
kheer
yummy kheer mummy
no one watched you except
          gods & goddesses
you cannot see pretend
you know meaning of mantras you read
it’s a long wait
rub tummy eyes
closed pray rapid prayers

III
imagine havan ceremony a film fast
forward to finish where you pick a hot
kachori juggle it
take a bite blow
air out cool your soul you’re not a quitter
put the kachori right back
where it belonged destiny designed
lessons unlearned
hot delicious volcano your mouth smiling
gods & goddesses

Mayur Chauhan, *cart in rain*, digital (street) photograph, 2024. Courtesy of the artist.

saudade (for Leigh Hopkins)

and now when it rains
bold, bubbly Kishore Kumar songs
chai, mandatory
{dreamy delightful Delhi
   early in the days, of everything, on earth
fittingly fortuitous fantastically festive
   Ghalib’s Delhi
     heaven on earth (if there is such a thing)
   Indraprastha, an earlier name, home of the king of gods
   just like that,
   kind of a distant past
   life begins in Delhi
   me, my childhood, my
   opulent memories
   peacocks dancing, people singing}
quite-rightly so,
remind me
stories drenched in sips of eternity
timeless running with eyes squinted to bring the dry clothes back inside
umbrellas a luxury
vivid laughters recitals of our favorite songs
why not then I carry with me
xerox copy of a rainy wednesday afternoon in Delhi, I was born to
yearn for
zestfully

Mayur Chauhan is an L.A. based immigrant, writer, actor, and teacher of creativity. He writes stories in all forms and has published over 40 pieces in Khôra, McSweeney’s and elsewhere. A Bread Loaf, VONA and Key West Literary Seminar scholar, Mayur created and facilitates C.A.R.E. for Artists– an 8-week long online creativity, & accountability group for artists across disciplines. He wants you to know that you’re amazing. Mayur loves writing letters by hand, chai and you.