Please meet Indran!

The Gift Hat


Take it easy; rest; you had a brilliant

start to the day, breakfast with A’zam,

a poet from Uzbekistan, who gave you

a d’oppi hat. So you have two hats

to accompany you at your desk,

the usual bowler and this black

and white landscape with fence

and musical notes, and stars

splashed on the night sky.

You write to your friend,

to inquire about some special

meaning for his hat, but then

imagination takes over

the stage, hence a border

for the night made of stardust

and these scythes of white light

and the hat itself: a square

squat on the celestial bowl

of the head, smiling broadly

and bowing before curious

glances of fellow passengers

on the metro, on downtown

streets, a few of them sporting

American varieties, cowboy,

Stetson, fedora, trilby, Panama,

not to forget Dad, porkpie,

newsboy. My god, there are

far too many hats in the

American catalog… Back

to bowler, my first hat.

Yet, I have to account still

for the gaucho hat I received

from Pino in Parana, the fedora

Mervyn brought me in New York

when I forgot my hat leaving

for the airport in Haiti.

Gifts. That is the point

of the hat. To cover your head,

to feel at home. to be treated

royally, to be given by a friend


By Indran Amirthanayagam