After The Lunchbox (2013)

Tiffin clangs like bells,
collapses as it climbs,
tiffin holds okra, paneer,
sambar, and lemon rice.
Tiffin holds notes,
scrawled at lunchtime
while chewing. Tiffin
grows like a womb
bears a promise, a
later date and time.
Tiffin packs extra pride
with hurt feelings—
clipped spice—but a swirl
of cream if tasted with
two fingers. Tiffin
takes its time unpacking
even if the food goes cold.
Empty tiffin isn’t the
finale you think. When
a container contains
negative space, there is
no longer an ending.
There is only an
invitation.