Loitering
In the lanes of old Delhi
Often loitering around
Many times without any purpose
Wandering for hours
And enjoying
The markets and fascinating people,
Entering Chooriwalan
Sometimes to New Road
Then sometimes to Jama Masjid
At that time there were
No responsibilities
Only out for a stroll,
In the lanes, on butcher shops
Hanging lifeless bodies of goats
Blood stains on the butcher’s dirty kurta
The aroma of Rumali roti and kebabs
Filling the nostrils
Tethered goats and wandering chickens
At the doors of crammed houses
Which often disappeared
From those doors after some days,
The curiosity to know
The life behind burlap curtains
How do these people live
Who are these people who devour
Their own pets.
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