Vendors’ plump wares, dusty from road,
otherwise pure; jalebis stacked on trays
dripping sugary sweat on palms,
gur and bangle-bindi sellers
cross section of cucumber, gram, puffed rice with chilies
gulped down with bottles of water,
sudden craving for chai coffee or soup,
beggars and college boys with spiky hair,
sticking out in a pan Indian local (train),
where days crawl in petty peace,
early risers drowse and drool on your pocket
unabashed. People in an almost condescending mood,
jerk out of the trip, the dim, soiled memory of suburban bliss.
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