Memory with Tea

The crunch of life

I used to buy for two rupees

has been long lost with

the familiar poodiwalaah* 

the glittering signages

of multinational chains

selling international cuisines

have gobbled up

the old woman who sold

boiled eggs with rock salt

on winter eves

the benches thankfully

are still here

but vacant

the plague of social networking

has killed the time

that permitted

sitting there doing nothing

gossip,chat,observe

and soak the sun

the state library

and the church

mostly visited by 

only tourists now

have air fresheners

killing the

fragrance of nostalgia

in each of these

I have lost

the ideal of something

SHIMLA was

I delete

all the new pictures

and munch on memory

with a hot cup of tea.

* the man who sold paper cones filled with a homemade spicy mixture of nuts.