I hear the cats are ready, wish washed behind the ear,
Collared up and clothed as the eighth is finally here.
The house so decked up stands, the colours all of a glow,
And the potted plants now wet, lie glistening in a row.
The terrace freshly scrubbed, the clothesline stripped,
Unruly weeds spliced, the brown dust whipped.
Fragrant the kitchen I believe, with delicious things to bite,
Gift wrapped hordes of goodies, ribbons unfolding at sight.
My family of four debates, riotous plans are shaped,
A corner hastily cleaned, the television newly draped.
I close my eyes and wait, the streets of Delhi come alive,
Into the car everyone’s stuffed, early they wish to arrive.
To my high-school swing I’ll return, my monsoon hideout will scoff,
The years rewind to long past, as my flight finally takes off.
Of Paneer, Pulao and Pune 
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