Allahabad-Dehra Dun

In the dream, whatever it was

I chucked through the door,

sugar-glider or dead pup,

it landed where the crows were

waiting. They had little

to tear into but they did.

Night turned to

daylight blue as she turned

into the cantonment.

Over army loudspeakers

patriotic songs were being played;

the health freaks were out

with their spiffy dogs;

behind the Syrian Christian Church

fluttered the tricolour,

as though waving. Ugh.

Pedalling uphill, going past

the President’s Bodyguard,

it struck me that recreational lakes

are shaped like kidney beans.