Big picture This time I look down from my balcony And see men ,women and dogs and
trees Pushcarts of knickknacks, bright sunshine, Colored plastic bags flying , broken toys And left out laughter of playing little girls On the erased street art of watchman's wife. I recall scraps of yesterday's night-smells That contained vaguely lying dog-forms White tarpaulin veils of the sleeping cars And a faint glimmer of a dark night's stars The street wore on a splendid night shirt. I also see a bald pate of old man smoking Bidi into a sun-shine world of shadows Its smoke curls emerge from behind closed Eye-holes , directly from hunger thoughts . I recall other days of jasmine strings lying Curled up in a basket on an old man's head Of white mustache , at two rupees an inch. I smell smells of fried onion and bread crust From houses that cooked in a world below. I still feel sounds of trash van spluttering From smoke from its tail, its stinking smell Rising to the heavens, its driver laughing At the remembered jokes of its trash man Walking behind with plastic bins of smell. I recall days of rain, pearl-drops from roof Kids play in wet roads,cars awash with sun From behind white clouds, emptied of rain Puddles of frogs that would turn carcasses In next day's morning's walk, in rain-smells. I recall the bonfires of watchmen and kids In the road, their white smoke hitting the tree That supplied twigs that were once the tree Their fires slowly warming little winter palms. This time round I look down from my balcony That is where I manage to get my big picture.