The sunlight filtered thru the winter fog-
melted the morning chill, dispelled the fuzz.
Big trucks revved and rolled for the journey long,
as the dhaba warmed with a spicy buzz.
The air swarmed with the scent of parathas
that crackled in a fiery tandoor.
The tables topped with fancy pickled jars,
and somewhere a fridge hummed to sweet curds’ groove.
Bottles of buttermilk cooled the weary
who plunked down on charpais strewn all over.
When folklores churned – some funny, some teary-
they wished if it dusked a wee bit slower.
Across the road the rolling meadows glazed.
And the sweet gales carried the taste and tales.