The hiss of the pan as he pours in the beaten eggs
The clank of the spatula as he proceeds to scramble it
If it were upto the ears to create a hunger impulse, this had to be it.
The cycle tinkling its bell as it slithers by, leaving the sea of cars behind.
The young one heading home in time to see his younger one’s face before the latter hits the bed.
An oldie looks on fondly from the bus window,
Gone are the days when he’d whizz past on his own bicycle, in a rush to bring his wife her juhi maala.
Alas! the knees have given way and the wife is long gone.
Don’t miss the millennial kid who stands on the side, waiting to cross, awaiting his cue from the traffic lights.
Right in the middle of the busy street, he’s made a world of his own – almost a recluse in a crowd.
The cobbler looks on with a hopeful stare and notices the kid’s shoes – yet again a new pair.
He wonders why they don’t bring it for mending anymore.
Polishing it to a shine have almost become a thing of the past but the earnings from mending are also far and between now.
I look on, and realise I’ve missed the signalling light twice.
It’s time I hail the cab and make my way home.
The mother awaits my evening call when we exchange our emotions from the day – well spent, or otherwise.