"The Fan"

by Rakesh Leel 

Winter

During this season I'm just chilling,

While mom does the mandatory Diwali cleaning.

In your motor, car, laptop or hair dryer, I reside,

Calibrated one to five, which number to keep, you decide.

I'm a rotating fan that blows the smell of food during marriages in winter,

While you, shakingly, trying to avoid the drop of rasgulla on your sweater.

Summer

I might be mercurial, that may have taken many hostel lives,

Watching me in the day, nodding your head in circle, the time flies.

Hand-fan is a familiar name for me at the local kiosk,

Office goers associate me with the flying papers amidst a task.

Occasionally required if you stay near the sea,

But the very speed can cold out your warm tea.

Monsoon

Been slowed down a little bit and soaked some moisture,

Mostly ignoring me is a common gesture.

Somewhere far I dispense nesting to pigeon,

Absenteeism of me leads a basement to a smelly dungeon.

CFC's AC might have sidelined me over the time, lighting earth with the flame,

But still the process of drying your underwear, beneath me remains the same.