Outside Shiv Mandir in Chittaranjan Park, New Delhi
I travel to Delhi tomorrow. After almost eight months of living away from the madness. And while I can’t claim Pune has been particularly sane, I have been away from the morning Metro rush, the honking cars outside my house, and the slight chill in the air that starts coming in this time of the year. But madness, really? This evening, randomly, I realize I have actually missed it all!
I arrived in Pune this weekend after an extended stay at home. With my trolley at one side and purse in hand, I barely managed to crash the gate open. There sat my landlady, swinging on her newly acquired jhoola. What followed was an oh so homely chit chat. With due respect, I appreciate the warm welcome. To all those claimers of apathetic landowners, this should be a look at the brighter side of things:
What took you so long my girl?
It’s been a month I can bet.
(Had you paid not in advance,
I’d have got new tenants to let)
You said your Mom was sick,
How does the dear lady do?
(I wonder if she paid me less,
The last she came to meet you)
Oh so surgery’s done you say,
Now isn’t that nice and neat?
(How much longer need I stand?
Or maybe I should offer a seat)
You sure don’t need a sweater?
Pune’s in quite a cold wave.
(The lesser your clothes dirty,
the more water I stand to save)
I’m glad the flight was on time.
How fatigued you’d be if late!
(I am done walking you know,
and at ten I shut the gate)
Oh pick up your mail some time,
It’s been piling up into a lump.
(It better crowd your office though,
My place ain’t a rubbish dump)
I’ll take your leave then for now,
Better unpack your bags my dear.
(And I finally succeed in escape,
The scene’s been a pain in the rear!)
Thank you, I mumbled as I walked up the stairs. Welcome home.
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 