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towards midnight the last truck churred away.
squatting on black charpoys,
dressed to wall the january cold,
the sky bent low dripping icy stars,
beside two unroped camels.
the couple at the dabba
served army rum, rotis,
dal, aloo mutter, cut onions,
in a somewhere without a clock tower;
tossed around facts and fictions
browned in the sands of kutch and rajasthan.