The dusty road tracks jump with friction; fog of dust is all we have for clouds…
In a swanky red ac bus I roll down the street... Mercury rising like inflation…
Through semi tainted glass, I can see the side-lanes set afire.
Yellow Amaltas... scores in a row...
Spilled through the road side, lighting up the skyline...
In Lutyen’s Delhi...
The winter dew transforms in summer sweat.
Like beads of pearls adorning foreheads...
As if the weather has taken upon itself to coronate every one...
Rich or poor... It won’t discriminate... For the kings have paved the way for the common, From Queen's way to Janpath...
And the Mougals are all on roads...
Their names inked with precision on bright green boards...
Burning under the yellow sun...
Poor sun is no one's friend today...
Hiding from it's glare under a turquoise umbrella...
I look at the street urchins... Selling a thing or two...
Jorawar, Munni and Raju...
A sip of water is dear for them,
For the plastic bottles are not to be stored but sold...
And cooling their limbs in the shades and subways,
The labor that has been building this city of aspirations.
Centuries of toiling without a place
No roof for those who build the palaces...
I wonder how they manage to sleep in the heat wave...
Sniffing a mud stained handkerchief, a pair of lost eyes answer my question
With scorch as harsh as the summer sun.
It’s a busy circle in the heart of the city,
No weather can deter the shopping enthusiast
The summer collection hanging on display,
Busy feet treading the sandstone paths.
Somewhere rolling round a huge tin jar,
Mounted on a red cloth covered platform
A boy plays a with spoon on a row of glasses...
Desi lemonades, banta, jaljira...
Summer delights have no end here...
For every pocket, a promise of fulfilment.
I move with ease between the two worlds...
Of air conditioned chambers and scorching streets...
Through tainted glass and under the naked sun...
I metamorphose myself, every now and then....
The concrete roads create a mirage…
And I follow in search of the promised satiation…
In a swanky red ac bus I roll down the street... Mercury rising like inflation…
Through semi tainted glass, I can see the side-lanes set afire.
Yellow Amaltas... scores in a row...
Spilled through the road side, lighting up the skyline...
In Lutyen’s Delhi...
The winter dew transforms in summer sweat.
Like beads of pearls adorning foreheads...
As if the weather has taken upon itself to coronate every one...
Rich or poor... It won’t discriminate... For the kings have paved the way for the common, From Queen's way to Janpath...
And the Mougals are all on roads...
Their names inked with precision on bright green boards...
Burning under the yellow sun...
Poor sun is no one's friend today...
Hiding from it's glare under a turquoise umbrella...
I look at the street urchins... Selling a thing or two...
Jorawar, Munni and Raju...
A sip of water is dear for them,
For the plastic bottles are not to be stored but sold...
And cooling their limbs in the shades and subways,
The labor that has been building this city of aspirations.
Centuries of toiling without a place
No roof for those who build the palaces...
I wonder how they manage to sleep in the heat wave...
Sniffing a mud stained handkerchief, a pair of lost eyes answer my question
With scorch as harsh as the summer sun.
It’s a busy circle in the heart of the city,
No weather can deter the shopping enthusiast
The summer collection hanging on display,
Busy feet treading the sandstone paths.
Somewhere rolling round a huge tin jar,
Mounted on a red cloth covered platform
A boy plays a with spoon on a row of glasses...
Desi lemonades, banta, jaljira...
Summer delights have no end here...
For every pocket, a promise of fulfilment.
I move with ease between the two worlds...
Of air conditioned chambers and scorching streets...
Through tainted glass and under the naked sun...
I metamorphose myself, every now and then....
The concrete roads create a mirage…
And I follow in search of the promised satiation…
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