You walk away from the bus stand
Towards the giant monument
Where religion guides the gallantry

You take a few steps
in the scorching heat
The one in which your shadow
too is lost in the fiery light
of a burning star

You halt before it
A dingy place
emitting waves of savor
You know you belly is empty
and so is the upper pocket
of your striped shirt

You enter in
A small cellar
divided by tall walled backrests
of tables
veiling similar men
empty like you

You touch the last few notes
stuffed in your kerchief
wet with your sweat

And you sit on a bench
joined to table
and a tall sheilder
of your identity

And he emerges out of a curtain
which bears the prints
of fingers
which push it aside
thousand times a day

He stands before you
after he sheds the load
of sixty filled plates
off his hands

A soiled shirt
And a stained pant
A cloth of wiped tastes
Hangs proudly on his shoulder
Rivers of sweat run down his temples
swallowing his stubble
leaving a trace
on his cheek

"What shall I get for You?"
He asks Looking at you through his eyes
Yellow like the spices
He has ground all night

"What do you have? "
You ask not him
but the troubled spirit within

"Everything" says he
pointing the menu
Lines of chalk
On a rectangular black stone
one below the other
like the detained
enlisted for execution

You scan through the list
And glance at his face
staring still at the menu
You feel like saying aloud
"A thin faint curve at least
on your tired face"

In neither of the wars
was this place touched
nor did any bomb
made it
it's destiny

nor did a comet
ever hit the place

nor was the power
of a nuclear weapon
tested here ever

nor did they dig
the reminants
of an old civilisation
from this land

nor did any spaceship
decide to land itself here

yet this depression
on it's chest
like a mark
of a past pimple
on a cheek

this exact rectangle
crater on earth
is a mystery
not until the old gaurd says
"they proposed to build
a swimming pool here
twelve years ago"

Ghosts live there now
and so do snakes
and yes in rains....the green grass
which turns golden
as dark clouds disappear....
also some unquenched thirsts
occasionally clouds of smokes
and bottles clinking
some spillingsof wines
and blood
and rages, joys, memories
hidden kisses
and dreams fulfilled
unfulfilled......
but who exist there more
are ghosts now
of unknown dead men
and of everything else
that has lived
and still lives there
dare they would've come here
if it wasn't abandoned
a decade ago

apartments
like soldiers in a disciplined platoon
asked to halt
in the middle of the parade
they stand
aligned
close and distanced
equally
stiff shoulders
erect postures
head upchin up
looking into horizon
spines perpendicular to earth
they stand
looking alike
they stand
and sometimes murmur
years together
but not a word spoken

They sleep there
upon each other
stacked.....
piled.....

Pull out one
and all wil come
to hug you
in their
round arms

they are the memories
of journeys
to lands far away
and nearby joyrides

different shapes
different ages
some with reminiscent roughness
of gone days
some smooth enough
to be dumped
some torn
punctured, withered

they all lie there
in wordless gloom
dead
or declared dead

yes it is a graveyard
of black circles
and bodies of rubber
once the wheels
of giants, dwarfs and neglected

She's dressed in green
darker shade
a red blot
blood red
is carvedon her wrinkled forehead
her eyes stare wideat you
her masculine arms
spread wide at you
the end of her saree
between them'Aaicha jogavaa de'
alms in the name of Mother
she blurts out in voice
thicker than yours
you are tempted to look at her
closely
her gunny
bag hair
look patted over the head
and her cheeks
show reminants of a stubble
shaved early in the morning
she repeats
'Aaicha jogava de'
alms in the name of mother
you turn a deaf year
no change lady!!!
she frowns
'you'll be born
in my sect
in your next life'
she curses
what are we anyways???
You ask yourself
and look around.

Tea and cigarettes
He knows what sell the most
together
an undeniable combination
like body and soul
inside his shack
rest the gods
admist the variety
of smoke sticks
small and tall
A sleepy Ganapati on a shelf
A meditative Shankar on another
A compassionate Sai Baba
peeps through a frame
And a three headed Datta Guru
accompanied by his pet puppies
reclining on his cow
all looking out
to bless him
to blend the right mix
of tea and sugar and milk
on the same wall
the taaboot of mecca is sorrounded
by numerous those
who visit
from corners of the world
for the moment of accomplishment
and besides the shiva
is a darga
a bed
festooned with flowers
mortal body
of an immortal soul
resting
above all is a moon
like a sickle blade
holding a star
in his womb
and an Om
with thousand meaning
one of them
being to welcome gods
Waheguru doesn't stay back in the race
and joins the holy party
and guess who's hanging on the wall beside
yes!!!!
It's our Jesus
hung heartlessly
to the cross
keen to disconnect him
from the corporeal
Seeing the shack
Some expirience the urge
to question him
to which religion
does he belong
how to classify him
know the brand of his blood
before their tounges
touch the surface
of the tea
in their tiny cut glasses
and he replies
"Chai!!!"

A wall runs along the road
like a long breath
wearing a crown
of thorns
for the sins
of Yamunanagar
Gratitude to it
Yamunanagar
does sleep in peace
with sins
it commits.

Some footsteps
of tea cups
who came and went
then some more footsteps
then even more footsteps
crowd of footsteps
in the end
at last
a rag
and all disappear
destroyed, devastated, demolished
numerous issues
debates
emotions
conversations
all
countless footsteps
in a moment cleaned
the hand behind the rag
hail to it!!!!