Wednesday, July 13, 2011

come back home


Picture Courtesy: Pooja Cornelius


do you remember
what time it used to be?
when we used to run down our stairs
and catch up with the gang
for tea and biscuits
at Kakaji's tapri
pay nothing
and put our fathers in debt?


sharp at 7,
the mosque would attract
all deaf ears
which heard nothing but noise
of guilty conscience and drab lives
the silent call
to the corner of the street
where we'd wait for Mazhar
and he would bow his head for us


the rich man's driver
who drove a rich car, back then
and how we sat crowded
on the white seat covers
to see how it felt to have a car
and wished to have one
when we grew up?


the playground
on the otherside of the road
from where, the sky appeared
brigher than blue,
the clouds appeared,
thicker than white
and how we waited for
all to come together
so that we could start
one match of cricket?


I pass by this road,
flashes of memories
pinch me.
how good were the days!
Come back, dear friend,
The street is never going to change
just like the people
whom you left behind
for whiter faces
cleaner roads
and duller skies...

Come back home.