Scraps

The markets close down at 9

People dwindle into the buildings around

as the churn of the street changes

to tired mumblings through thin walls

and meshed windows

The occasional respite of shouting

eases the stupor of the heat

"पांच साल से मुझे फ्रिज का पानी नहीं मिला!"

"आठ साल से में  तुम्हारा रधी खन्ना खा रहा हूं!"

Maybe the ads were right,

home appliances can fix everything

A mouse takes advantage of me musing

and scurries under the bed

Living of the false benevolence

Of my scraps

Like the pointlessness of a call

from an old ex-girlfriend

the awkward insipid small talk

sediments of bad memories

scraps are all we have to live on, I suppose

I hear him rustling the wrapper

of an old biscuit packet

down there, under my bed

I will kill him someday

just not today.                   

                                            Ghanta Ghar, Delhi - 2011