Going to Nani house in Delhi-6 in early 90s

In the narrow lanes 

that branched out 

like capillaries from 

the main aorta of 

the once opulently

resplendent Chandni Chowk,

before the wafts from 

the succulent jalebi, 

and of the sonth poured 

magnanimously in the 

leafy cups full of yoghurt 

based creamy and minty chaat

could reach our young nostrils, 

we were whisked away 

quickly by our genie mother 

as if on a magic carpet 

as we saw bazaars full of 

trimmings and tinsels, 

the silver ornaments, 

glass chandeliers, 

vats of attars and heaps of

ground and whole spices, 

so tantalisingly close 

and yet so unreachable 

due to the expert dexterity 

of our mother and her kin 

who only stopped at 

the entrance of this 

tottering Haveli which had 

certainly been imposing once.

But, now swarming with 

people of all hues and 

dialects occupying its

multiple rooms that 

were spread around a 

multi-storied chowk and

were interconnected in 

ways totally alien to the 

privacy loving and

“Me-time” demanding 

current generation. 

II 

After many rounds of greetings 

and touching of elders feet 

to their gentle chiding 

that girls don’t touch the 

parents feet,

And, after many rounds of 

home made kadi chawal 

and a sneaky snack 

of Top Ramen and orange 

flavoured Rasna, 

hours of school gossips 

and boasting of our 

excellent academic grades, 

as the heat subsided, 

we headed to our Sanjhi terrace

to witness the most interesting 

soap opera romance conjuring 

right in front of our  eyes, 

as the dusky and fair didis 

who came out to dry 

chana papad and moong 

mangodis  on tarpaulins 

received lovesick looks 

from the kite-flying tall, 

handsome but gawky 

bhaiyas , 

causing flutters of butterfly 

in our tender stomachs,

giving us vicarious pleasures

much to the chagrin

of our all knowing mothers

giving us those stinky eyes 

and ordering us to run 

their sundry errands. 

III 

 

As the sun dipped behind 

the old minarets and new 

haphazard encroachments, 

thousands of pigeons, parrots 

and even tiny sparrows filled 

the sky in kinetic patterns 

forever changing and yet 

so heart warmingly assuring 

as we cleaned our part 

of the terrace and cooled

the baked floor with 

mugs full of water, 

our senses heady with 

the thirst-quenching aroma 

of the water drenched bricks, 

as we spread cotton filled 

mattresses, bolster pillows 

and newly washed top sheets 

and stationed surahis

along with different

shaped steel tumblers.

And after evening Aarti 

and watching 6 songs of Chitrahar 

along with ever increasing 

number of advertising films, 

and a rare treat of vanilla 

cup brought by our Mamaji, 

and hours of spooky 

stories that were fabricated 

almost extemporaneously 

until warned by elders 

of dire consequences like

cancelling of our favourite 

nagori puri and halva 

for the following day, 

we gave much needed 

respite to their ears 

and traced the constellations 

with our little fingers, 

outlining the Orion 

and the Ursa Major 

in a midnight blue sky

till the dreams invaded our eyes.