On my visit to Kolkata,
Memories pop out of nowhere.
One day,
Car stuck at random intersection.
Tap at car window -
Hawker selling fare,
Sweet fruit called 'Aash Phol'.
As kids, we would spend afternoons
Devising ingeneous strategies
To bring these fruits
Down to earth.
'Fruits' of our labour,
Eh?
Of another summer holiday
Long gone past.
Another day,
An expert driver
Takes us through
The winding roads
Of a short-cut.
I read the signs
And I notice
The name of the road -
Gorfa.
A friend lived there,
A friend with similar tastes
In music and life.
He would always invite me home
But I never went
Giving one excuse or the other.
That day
I crossed his street
For the first time.
But our paths do not cross anymore
And probably never will -
But who knows?
No comments:
Post a Comment