Walking to the Beat

In response to a great post by Sucharita, on Morning walks, then and now.





Some tag along,
shoelaces open,
clutching a big finger;
skipping through
the grassy path
to the river.
And as the
sun paints the horizon,
they flop down,
lying on wet grass,
thinking
of Ma, baba, didi
and of course,
breakfast.







Today,
trainers guide the feet,
lightness,
not in the heart,
but in the shoes;
Headbands with tick marks
instead of a sari pallu
wiping the forehead;
and
two massive discs
cover the ears.

Missing out
on
the mother,
calling out with
the left lunchbox,
a wife,
reminding
about the key,
the building sweeper
his soundless
toothy smile,
and
the neighbor's dog
protesting the balcony.

The sky changes color,
so do the signals,
The fresh air
gets a whiff of exhaust;
he adjusts his headphones,
takes a deep breath,
and listens,
to someone sing,
predictably,
"Beat it !"