On The Streets of T. Nagar

Sanjana Srinivasan

Running my fingers
through such breakable bangles,
I catch myself in the mirror
and turn around
A white 'softy' ice cream
calls out to me,
such irony, the vendor
is all but white
Yellow color coats me
from above, as yellow
as the jackfruits nearby,
this must how ambrosia taste like
On the streets of T. Nagar,
I see sarees draped like
individual waterfalls in
different colors
Spicy Porial hits my nose
along with boiled peanuts,
autos honking, vendors bargaining,
it has become my everyday
Gold, silver and diamonds:
this is the place most
renowned; of cotton, silk
and 'Pattu', this takes the crown
On august nights,
I smell petrichor,
hear the rumble of motorbikes,
the hooting and cheering still keep
midnight alive
'Idiappam!' calls the man
early morning, his cycle bell
the first to chime, my wake up
call carrying this craving of mine
Wheelchair Maami sells
flowers that we thrust upon God,
chants and incantations and
the occasional choir around the corner
Oh! how families seem to unite only here,
to bargain, oh!
how some tend to get lost
in the hubbub of the busy street.
Even on Sundays, the street
beckons us, the yellow coat giving
way to perspiration,
the flyover above, a tree
that gives us shade.
Dew and drops of water descend
hitting the tarmac Pitter Patter!
strange to see the streets empty
strange to see people separate,
when the clouds come together.
On the streets of T. Nagar,
I live
and so does

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