The ironic silence of the city, minding it’s own,

a wordless commotion of horns;
the smoking metal boxes;
flowing in it’s veins,
adorned with lamp posts.

I walked into it’s heart,
a maze, a ‘bazaar’;
a celebration of lights.
I walked into it’s heart,
to be human again;
to find my childhood,
lost in those little ‘gallis’.

And I found it, just as I left it;
(with a wet face, angry,
for they didn’t get me anything.)
The old shops with new owners,
but still fascinating,still lively.
Loud vendors in their singsong voices
joined in by the wails of the children
both in a way tugging to women,
women- engaged in frantic debates,
flirting, fighting to get a discount.

Chachas with ever sweet smiles
trying to oversell,
some with a tray for a shop
selling briefs, lipsticks and what not.
Otherwise decent people rushing the sales,
motorcycles squeezing their way in and out.
and hot delicious whiffs from open food stalls
alluring an endless crowd.

The zeal of the vibrant crowd
genuine people and their
simple yet fancy wants
a chaos- a merrymaking
a festival in itself,
in an ever so festive India.

[box_dark]by:Chaitanya Dorwat[/box_dark]