My town

I decided to finally figure out what my town is.

I love going out. Not because there is always some pretty wind blowing into my long hairs as I stroll down the calm street and throw a smile at everyone else strolling by. Quite opposite, there are gushes of smoke billowing out from the sideways of narrow streets , congested with more vehicles than concrete , that is bedecked with potholes, a paradise for flies and occasionally more cows than people (and I don't have long hairs).

But I love going out to see how amazing humans are, especially the kind that surround me-they are worried about everything and nothing. I look at us , and only figure I can make out is of roaches , like roaches we are all over the place, going about our work- which we would still do even if we were beheaded. Ideal workers we are( that explains why we are still in this town) 

It's just like the map of India - our town. On entering you see huge buildings , the like that is found to be appealing to most and that alone is enough to drag you in ( just like Mumbai airport pulls you into the country) . Interiors of this town is plagued with helplessness , those extra brown , malnourished people on bikes , all desperate and exhausted and if not that then wasted . People of my town aren't the ones you want to read about - they are self centred people obsessed with peer pressure from the dead or as you like to call it - tradition. They are angry but helpless - the worst combination,  trying but clueless- the worst position, poor and sad - no 'but' here . But there's a group of elites too , those who either care too little or a little (that's about how far I can go) and then the youth ( woke one so no comments).

The only thing famous about my town is enterprise built on insecurity , you call it religion and I call it , well, wonder. 

There's malls and cafes here too , and big plazas and stores of all famous brands . You can see these amazing stores all lined up as if watching us at a distance , all congested from within with people who have had a little too much for lunch today and from without , the rickshaw pullers who barely ate. 

My town is like a poem that thrives on irony . 

The poems which goes something like-

'your face is gorgeous like moon on a moonless night

Your eyes , like stars brimming from behind the clouds

Your lips , oh love , I want to touch them

They blossom like a rose garden filled with thorns

You , baby , are beautiful

I see it 

I see it darling 

I see your beauty..

Forgive me , but I don't deserve you 

A blind man doesn't deserve a beauty like you' 

The ironies are all yours dear reader . My town is still living in this poem and outside it.