Summer in Dilli

The kulfiwala calls out for school kids,

running from the entrapment

To buses and vans and homes 

with the curtains drawn in.

Breathtaking mangoes, chilled iced tea glasses and sweaty nights, 

power cuts and sleepless sighs.

We run from tree to tree,

a slick hide and seek.

The people in ac cars,

looking down through their rose tinted glasses at the ones 

standing barefoot under the

Forty-degree Celcius sun.

Sitting in an auto folding sleeves carrying home cassatas.

Cotton kurtas soaking in my regret of visiting old Delhi, The burning floor of the mosque,

wanting to dive into the middle of

the wudu pond. The men,

Still running in to offer zuhr namaz.

Monkeys and people peeling bananas and laughing at each other.

AR rahman blaring in a shop nearby,

the city goes dark for a second 

And everyone droops their heavy shoulders,

The light comes back and the radio goes on. The cats call out for a free fishy dinner and we pay for our chicken tikka

and Rooh Afza milkshake orders.

At the end of the day my mother, still my mother; carrying hefty watermelons

from the Tuesday evening market,

Slicing the seeded giant,

devouring it in the cooler air,

munching the little pieces while

Haranguing the houseflies.

Come summer,

ruin us all,

the Amaltas are drooping

waiting for the sun.

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