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from Animal City

We stop on Linking Road in days when Fiats
          Clogged the shape of traffic towards Mahim Causeway, north to south.

Long before the whip of olive bars, mojo melts, too school for cool drawl-mocking
Mumbaikars, sultry and bangled Bandra girls, their
         Slurps inviting.

No, back in the 80s, a few years before I
         Played football with a bat-blind cancered grandfather, my
         Mother n’ me stop at the corner where Waterfield Road spills.

(Nearby, Maa liked the cottage-cheese shop.)

As we wait for the green light, a
         Sadhu six-footed walks to my openaired window,
         Dreads-matted, beard in forest, saffron-covered with
                  Hint of charcoal, fume, lavender.

Him have a sleek, spotted,
         Jazz-patterned python wrapped round his
         Upper torso, fitted perfect like a bride’s sari. The snakehead juts out

         In a slither above his locks.

He stretches them crow hands, pigeon nails,
         Towards me, eyes fired, jaundiced yellow.

I recoil, screaming. A
         Hijra on the street-divider claps his hands,
         Clacks like a witch. Light greens, cars cough, cop
                  Blinks. Maa shakes.






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