the rustic walls and
the old gate which
leads the hungry beyond the
red stones of the Mughals,
and to the red meat and chefs.
The drive turns the
vultures of the hot day
into vampires, who mix
blood with water, before
the chilled gulps, thinning
the flayed nerves further...
... Till that sleepy merchant on the
east wall start shedding light
into the happy hours; the soles stutter,
a slip here and a sway there,
and a surprise! A glide
through mist, an early winter call.
(A typical night out in Delhi after the rigours and figures of Commonwealth reporting)
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