taste of gol-gappas,

drowning tongues,

in dreams of monsoon-marinated dilli,


of cycle-repair stalls,

sweet-lime soda hued shawls,


dtc at minto bridge stuck as always,

see how tragedy binds us still,

to the olden days,


nostalgic kisses, quivering lips brushing each other,

during stolen moments,

on friends’ fathers’ “borrowed” vespas,


aur phir Diwali would announce its imminent arrival,

smog-filled galiyaan, diyas alight in the pre-winter night,


and then, sheher ki roshni dazzled us all,

( not very acceptable, granted, in this eco-age )


and we danced into the chilly autumn night,

barely touching each other,


yet our souls,

hearts,


the sum of our desires,

our innocent yearning,


seemed sated at nights end,


and to that,

that feeling, hardly ever felt since:


contentment.


enoughness.


that,

keeps me dreaming these nostalgic,

spicy dreams,


of leather against willow,

setting fields,

the sight of middle-stump toppling,


memories etched,

engraved, tattoed into my being,


along with you,


my constant,

fellow traveller,


mere humsafar,


and though dilliwaalas are known to spin a yarn,


let’s leave it as it was,


meri dilli, meri jaan.



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