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.
A very visceral and evocative work capturing time and place adroitly .
EDITORIAL NOTE FOR THE GENERAL READER :-
Dhaba – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dhaba
Dhaba is the name given to roadside restaurants in India and Pakistan. They are situated on highways and generally serve local cuisine
Thanks so much, Louis. Really appreciate the trouble you took to explain the word ” dhaba”. Gratified.
left a very nice taste in the mouth…evocative imagery.
Lovely poem with superb imagery which reminds me that I must visit India soon as I love the local cuisine in the dhabas.
Thanks so much Santosh.
Thank you Pramila. Appreciate your reading.
Greatly enjoyed this poem and its flavours 🙂
Thanks a ton Reena.