Dust-rivers on a clutter-perfect street

sand-piled sides to cover dignity

“Namaste, would you like a golden ring?”

But let me meet baba cool and take a picture

with you

The sun glaring down with an afternoon strength

as I dissolve into a crowd going this way, that way

motorbikes beep and push us to the side

4WDs beep and push us further

two cars on the road manoeuvre around each other

a hair-distance apart 

“Miss, come sit” the smoke is sweet

the sight is pure

and songs that trap the heartbeat in your soul

and hug the very essence of yourself, allowing you

to understand that

everything will be okay. 

Parata for you

a litre of ghee for you

3 kg of rice for you

and for me?

beyond words, a dignity




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