I Missed His Book, But I Read His Name
Though authors are a dreadful clan
To be avoided if you can,
I’d like to meet the Indian,
M. Anantanarayanan.
I picture him as short and tan.
We’d meet, perhaps, in Hindustan.
I’d say, with admirable elan,
“Ah, Anantanarayanan —
I’ve heard of you. The Times once ran
A notice on your novel, an
Unusual tale of God and Man.”
And Anantanarayanan
Would seat me on a lush divan
And read his name —that sumptuous span
Of 'a’s and 'n’s more lovely than
“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan” —
Aloud to me all day. I plan
Henceforth to be an ardent fan
of Anantanarayanan —
M. Anantanarayanan.
