…where i live

a bird cries, no two

dogs bark and fight

like the drunkards

at night.

in the orange

daylight

bursting with heat

(35 degrees c)

an auto rattles

to life.

shutters go up

clanging

metal against metal

the garage

opposite

is open for work.

engines roar

put-put and hum

and roar again

white water jets

on to machine parts

piercing, washing

the grease away.

buses

accelerate

not moving

raising dust clouds

off the road.

nearby,

a pump stutters

loud water

gushes and spurts

from the square well

coughing into

an empty metal tank

for four hours

at least.

the bullet

lot of them

in fact,

thunder up and down

the single lane.

in the kitchen

a loose lid slips

over vapours

of hot rice.

outside a crow

caws into my ear

lying

that a guest will come home.

ladies in blue

at noon

work their hands

over me

their mouths

never cease

sharing gossip

gasping, laughing

like the fan

whirring overhead.

more voices float in

just then

high pitched and violent

incomprehensible.

my neighbour

(with his right-side,

paralysed)

competing over

the ten tv boxes

on our floor.

eighty channels

ten different moods

to suit every room.

a remote control

falls from nodding hands

batteries and plastic

all over the place.

on the street

where i live

a morcha, muslims

hundreds of them

march together

for a long time

shouting slogans

wriiten on little printed chits

in their hands

i watch

from the fourth floor

ugly traffic lagging

behind them

honking, grinding

braking…

a police siren

screeches through

the cacophony

for the rest

of the day.