summers in bulsar

the goat is chewing the grass in the graveyard and the big wall separates the dead from the living
i play with my brothers wanting to hit 200 and more and they slog as i hit past the Muslim graves

the mangoes were green and then yellow
the wanki nadee was not straight and polluted by atul
the chikoo wadis as we tookthe camel-cart and went on a family picnic

from vanyawaad. the bookbinders opposite mis-binded my Tintins
and the little orange ganpathy temple and the stone otlla where kalpi foi and shilpa foi sat
on evenings and Falguni

the Bombay Grain Merchants' Lodge is on the edge of the black sand beach
the heat and green insects and sugarcane juice

in the corner of tithal road and the oxen going round and round
before Kshitij came and that was the first tall sky scraper

Toddywallah Bunglow in afternoons where we played cricket
bhavesh had started bowling fast he was born on kapil's birthday

and the bakery with huge buns
and mom slogged and made amazing food. Hot for me and not-so-hot for the uninitiated

the durgahs and the south indian pau bhaji maker in two storeys
and the wadas in the middle of the night with fried green chillies and salt

we loved trains, mangoes, white bats and those soft balls that only Valsad used
the library has lots of mills and boon and an asterix and the couldron
there is the big durgah at the end of the city before the auranga river
the horsecarts are still there but the auto-rickshaws are killing them one at a time