Taste Of Cherry

By Prerna Munshi

Bury me', he almost begged through his suave and reticent mannerisms.

'But, don't ask what I want to be buried for.'

It didn't ring strange to the old man who was accompanying him along an exhumed Persia, a Persia breathing its last, welcoming a post-modern Iran. Like Persia, the old man had witnessed many strange things in his lifetime.

As advised against asking 'what he wished to be buried for' (he wasn't curious either), the old man hummed a Turkish folk song. The man who wished to be interred grew curious

'What does that mean? Will you bury me or not?

There's a hole, I have dug

under a tree and

I'll lie there early in the morning

after administering a pill overdosage.

Come and call my name thrice.

If I respond,

take me out of the grave.

I might be sleeping.

And, If I don't,

bury me.'

By Prerna Munshi