Block B

am i the only one to be served here, one of the tables is occupied, in middle of delhi's transitional seasons, on the working tuesday evenings, i leave and deboard at rajiv chowk to enter inner heart of this city, the block b. locked rooms back home, my only bed would be as it's left, late evening rituals of following up on food and existence, it's only mom, at nine. the pending dinner decisions and everyday breakfast, has been almost a month now. i try unfolding all the envelopes, postcard collections, letters, somewhere and someday existed. 

i try writing on tour and detour, manikarnika ghat at twenty-four hundred hours, pyres and burning, ekaant ganga, ghat banaras, gadowlia ka paan, gali nukkad chaat banaras, pyaar banaras. wander station and dormitory bed, indian rail, varanasi, mau mirzapur junction and third tier comportment, quick tour of vishwanath ji, i rest and spend the leftovers at ganga flowing next to dashashwamedh, early five hundred hours crossing over harischandra, waiting at assi ghat for the sun to rise, prayers to begin, dear god. i spent a day before, at faisabad, an evening at ram janam bhoomi, walk through hanuman garhi, i am at saryu

walk-alone sunder nursery, sufi heritage festival, rekha ji, what a performance. life here, has been introduced to the kabir cafe, now half of my posts sync on their tunes, deputations changed, for the next day i pack my self. at home, rooms are alone. i try dialling numbers, 

i ride on the next metro, towards dwarka-sub city

(grammar has been left casual, some sentences are intentionally left incomplete.)