a dethreaded brahmin haunts
temple, church,dargah beside roads.
candles the wintry morning,
offers a chaddar at the dargah,
a coconut to ganesa.
the effort fatigues, forgets the favours.

cars in dew.
a butterfly still on a lance of grass
waiting for a delayed sun.
kids joyously shuttle footballs.
a lighted, red cross impaled in mist.
its a city winter.  

strays are statistical improbabilities in 

ramanujan's intution.

never crow-clever, no pretensions.

stretched out, curled up, in drowsy thought

on link road.

on cold midnights howl.

chase speeding cars.

wiggle as the aged couple loaded with

milk packets, biscuits, aluminium bowls

set up breakfast on pavements.

pronouns do not embellish them 

--- one blind in the left eye, 

a second in the right eye;

--- a left ear up,

a right ear down;

--- a fellow lame in one leg;

--- some tail-less;

--- most brown with whites at odd locations;

--- two all black.

sometimes group at gossip bar over rums

and whiskies chatting cricket and gods;

the lady foots the bill, staggers out on fours;

they follow on twos;

never visit a saloon for a trim;

avoid vets for the lady claims,"they are fit."

pets in collars, on long leashes, stroll by.

complaints pile up.

an hour before the dog van, 

Link Road is clean with cars, pets, the lady. 

ambling on a sunday city morning,
circled by goats trundling ahead of their goatherd,
he paused.
walking back home passed the
goatherd aflame in cash.
single on morning walks,
coated in waves of auto fumes,
prayers parting lips,
is good morning friend.
--- a few lady rag pickers nosing bins,
an old leper in an orange headgear tagged to
a blind sister, squatting outside churchwalls,
tired milkmen on cycles relaxing with mobiles,
newspaper vendors not calling news,
couple of deranged women,
stray dogs asleep inside a shiva temple
----  daily, unshifting landmarks.
importantly, madhavi,
watching kids, without schools, noising,
takes off to her village with her three kids,
a remembrance of smiles.
while madhavi mops home,
he cleans, chops vegetables,
never knicking fingers.
slinging a stifled soul from her shoulder, madhavi walked to the devi temple,
60km from her village,
the promised third trip.
is sure of devi keeping the deal.
on diwali day sat in her shack
twirling a damaged 50-rupee note
passed on by one of her middle-class employers.
her village river has two banks, madhavi none.
the bell in her soul has no gong.
it happens to roadsiders.
fate lines cannot be braided.
he cannot be them.
in aging times hopes to walk till knees bend.
smiles
--- at squirrels scampering overhead wires
bridging treetops;
last of the snails after rains, snailing.

scary lightning,
drooping clouds on parijat blooms;
spray footpaths at dawn.


...........  


relishing a rare breakfast,
the bullock lurched, dropped on the tarred road,
shoved down by owner and three hands.
they tied his legs for shoeing.
a lone tear crawled;
iron nails pierced the flesh, jesus-style.
in an hour, the bullock stood up;
yoked to a cart loaded with twisted rods;
a  whip, the animal heaved, collapsed,
leaving owner cursing shoeing costs.




............

something of newspaper prose about the lady
as she swishes her tail and trunk.
today, she is still, in her style.

cormorants, egrets, flying fox crown
the coconut.
a spread of newspapers,
laid out by sachin, at its base.
no newsreader; a scanner of film releases
on friday.
he goes to bed with films.
her village pond, trees and birds unspool
when shantha, the flower vendor, sleeps.
saket, the tea fellow, meets up corporates midnight.
over a tea break, they meet, uncertain of the day.
one show a month at inorbit is sachin's desire.
a trip home forever, consumes shantha.
my tea stall will become a 5-star hotel, claims saket.
six years over.