The City and I

(returning to Bombay after 26 November 2008)

This time we didn’t circle each other,

the city and I,

    hackles raised,

    fur bristling.

This time there was space

between us

and we weren’t competing.

Space enough and more

for the nose-digging librarian

and her stainless steel tiffin box,

for the Little Theatre peon

to read me endless Marathi poems

on rainy afternoons,

for the woman on the 7.10 Bhayandar slow

with green combs in her hair

to say

and say again

    He’s coming to get me

    He’s coming.