Rock garden, Chandigarh

Returning after thirteen years

along with my super-excited

ten year old, 

I see the rows of same dolls, 

made up of broken bangles.

I also see the same waterfalls, 

Throw coins in the same old well, 

tread on the same cobbled paths

bend to pass through 

the same arched gates and 

sit gingerly on the same swings, 

admiring the same old rocks 

decorated with people’s trash

painstakingly by Nekchand,

and the same old colourful tiles, 

in our very own park Güell, 

The only thing that has changed

is my breathing 

that has become laboured 

as I trail far behind

trying to catch up with 

my nimble-footed son, 

chasing his favourite imaginary monster 

in this phantasmagoric land.