A World Of It's Own
At the sight of Keventer's,
My iris prepares itself,
To witness the,
Unending beeline of people,
Scaling their way to
The Times Square,
Of Darjeeling.
The sight of-
Silver steamy Maktoos,
A woman sitting quietly,
Roasting corn.
People from different
Ethnic communities,
Sauntering past with their families,
Pointing their fingers,
Towards the chic clothes,
Sitting proudly on mannequins,
Behind the glass of a shop,
Fascinates the senses.
The aroma of freshly,
Barbequed chicken,
And of finely fried fritters,
Beckons me.
The crazy hubbub-
Of people walking,
Here and there,
Yelling each other's names,
Bargaining with vendors,
Bumping into one another,
Apologizing with a smile.
Although exasperating,
Is wonderful to tune in.
Reaching the summit,
The eye rolls from,
One corner to the other,
To marvel a panorama.
A picturesque frame,
Of colours and diversity,
Which never tends,
To saturate one's heart.
The sweet and sulky sounds,
Harmonise so perfectly,
As if an orchestra was performing,
In the distance.
Sitting down on those,
Ever-supportive benches-
The ones who drop their smiles,
As you sit there weeping.
Ones who embrace you,
Enjoying your happiness.
I begin to lose all worries,
As I take in the aesthetic,
Of the Connaught Place,
Of Darjeeling.
~ Pratham
~ Pratham
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