Across the Universe

This city is ochre. is grey. is spilling out. You can see how it bulges at the edges with little windows like eyes carved into every wall. This city is sombre, is bright. Is sun surrounded by the aroma of a coffee drizzle. Is old. Is warm. Is poor. Is art. Is the city of joy, is mishti dahi, is durga temples and streets lined with second hand books that are covered in dust and each word melts in your mouth.

Have a seat.
In this tram, this rickshaw pulled by a man on a cycle, in my horse driven carriage before it turns back into a pumpkin. Its almost twelve.
This city is old windows and balconys that collapse when romeo is right round the corner.
Its rabindra sangeet, art films, pseudo intellectuals, thick black spectacle frames and pani puris.
Look around. The sun is sinking its teeth into your flesh. The sky here is not so bright but the people are. Words are heavy on their tongues. A's become O's. They speak fast and I struggle to catch up. cotch upopadhyayayayaa.Calcutta