The following poem was submitted in place of an essay to one of the most selective universities in the US.
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Elizabeth I in Chandni Chowk
An oddity was she
Red-haired sylph with a coronet
The crowd hushed as they took in her skin
Whiter than marble, doves, sclerae
Said Anne Boleyn’s daughter, as she beheld me
“I’m looking for Venetian Ceruse!” I chuckled, said
“Lady, you’re in Chandni Chowk,
Haunt of car parts, parathas, and jewels.”
“Lady?” she blazed, “Vile commoner!
Address me by my proper designation”
“Not my sovereign,” I said loudly,
Laughing at her indignation
A day later, the Fairie Queene
Spoke of a vacuum, inky black, swirling
Behind a tapestry. Brave woman outstretch’d
A hand— but alas, the vortex took her coronation ring
The true heir of Henry VIII
Bid her tearful handmaidens
Farewell, and thrust her tear-soaked palm
Into the void. Hark! A roar, a gust of wind,
Fervid prayers, as she was thus taken
The faithfuls wept, screamed, announced
“The Queen has contracted smallpox!”
As the ruler of England joined the throng
Ceiling’d by tangled cables and circling hawks
With horror the ruler of England felt
A stray shoe
entangled in her froufrou
As a turbaned old man, eyes clear as day
Apprehended the absconding bijou
He gave chase, and laughed gaily at
Her alabaster sweat pink-eye, her lopsided wig
“Ten thousand rupees,” yelled the man “
And the meaning of life,” as he took a swig
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| Chandni Chowk |
“A swig of what?”
“Light, sorcerer was he.” “Lies!”
I finally said. “No,
even belladonna
Cannot recreate the cosmos-glint in his eyes.”
Turmeric-yellow was the cart she pulled
As she busied herself in charlatanry
Of the basest kind. She purveyed
Eggy skin bleaches, turpentine, mercury
To unsuspecting locals, who coveted
Inhibition of melanin,
Solution to their self-loathing,
Pallor of the woman contained in tinselled satin
In my mind swam rudimentary knowledge
Of Gödel’s spacetime, transversable wormholes
Elaborate hoax, or time tourist? Head spinning, I took
Refuge in the constancy of sunbeams, heat like burning coals
Festoons of marigolds hung over the alleyways
Where pottery, wooden tigers, spices were sold
Dishes from 29 states, and the islands beyond
Emptied pockets, whetted palates, both young and old
Elizabeth One couldn’t have chosen a better place
Than this Square— a patchwork of times
Transistor radios in shops with fairy-lights
White noise machines and wooden wind-chimes
But I could not abide by those health
Endangering, mentally-deranging concoctions
Glow ominous like radium, Turkish-stoppered in vials
Warnings unheeded, helpless—I watched
As the monarch proffered death-mixtures without compunction
Evening-time. Mosque prayers over loudspeaker
Blanketed the cacophony of car-horns,
Wing-flapping of pigeons,
Shopkeepers’ calls, wails of babies forlorn
The sorcerer arrived, saffron-turbaned
And Elizabeth surrendered the day’s collection
“And my answer?” “I have it.” “Pray tell.”
“The meaning of life is motion.
Motion in heartbeat, growth, dilation
Of pupils, vibration of vocal cords,
Folding of leaves, flight of dandelion spores,
Of lips that shape utterances—these very words.”
Said the sorcerer, unmoved by her sophistry
“Think harder, for what lives may not move.”
“The meaning of life is relative”, she blurted out
“For me, England— for Dudley, my love.”
“A little better, my dear, congratulations.
You are beginning to celebrate difference.
And what is life, if not a journey
Of discovery and diversity of experience?”
“The meaning of life, for me, is memory.
Memories of religion, when a queen was born
Of childhood. Love. Father.”
“Thank you for your honesty”, said the sorcerer,
“Take your ring, go back to where you started, begone.”
“This ring is blessed, I will never remove it.”
“Never,” she repeated, and wore it slowly.
And as the history books can attest—
Days after she did, she passed on peacefully.
Of lead poisoning.
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Questions
Rate this poem, from 1-5, with 5 being the highest, in terms of its effectiveness as a submission to a highly selective university. What rating did you give it and why.
Rate this poem, from 1-5, as a poem. What rating did you give it and why?
What three words would you use to describe the author of this poem?
Is the writer male or female? Should this make any difference?
Where is the author from? Should this make a difference?
Will this student add diversity? In what way?
What did you learn from reading this poem--about Elizabeth I, Chandni Chowk, or the author?
Is submitting a poem in place of an essay a risk worth taking on a college application?
Does this poem predict success in college? Why or why not?
Would you want this student as a roommate?
What is a poem?
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