Kala Ghoda

Not by the absence of the dark horse

Nor by its history that overlays your fortified stones;

You are known: by your antiquity that treats you like wine

And by your magnetic connection with the mundane;

By your musical and multilingual corners,

Your libraries and lawns, and streets that trifle with them;

By lanes turned towards sandwiches and sev-puris,

And by your compassion wet with cold sugar-cane juice.

You paint self-portraits

On arbors of daily chaos and nocturnal silences

Inspecting the anatomy of Bombay

Through the city’s inverted lenses.