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It’s where the unassuming but stoic Shiva sits
by the verdant Bilva tree
by which the rhythmic Nila flows
where the fragrance of Jasmine and incense
immerses you in an exalted harmony
It’s where outside the temple sits a mendicant
whose eyes speak stories to you
on a noisy street filled with vendors
hawking sweet and savoury goods
to fill your stomach and soul
It’s where the rhapsody of the beat of drums
and Shehnai immerses you in a euphoric state
and the holy hymns make you hum
to the comfort of familiar canticles
that sometimes bring tears to your eyes
It’s where I watch the sunset from one end of the street
in the middle of a silly banter with a friend
and where books smelling of wisdom and moth
are sold by ordinary people on the street
for a living
It’s where I run into friends, acquaintances and exchange a story or two about a distant cousin or impending rain.
It’s where I used to eat peanuts
sitting under the shades of the big banyan tree
It’s where the unassuming Shiva sits
by the verdant Bilva tree,
on the street that I’ve walked a hundred journeys with my mother in tow
It’s where I call home, the streets of Kalpathy
where my soul escapes to, for a whiff of comfort and calm!