Elderly men two,

One spectacled, other not,

Covered with woolen clothes and all,

Watches bandaged to dry wrists,

Merrily sit and sip evening tea.

 Bench is bare and but they don’t care. 

A call they have

From Kolkata

An old mate is in hospital

Languishing lone for life’s breath.

Once they shared joys and woes

Once they visited friends and foes

There was mirth in the air

There was gay in their gaits.

How can they forget communal days?

How can they heal mutual wounds?

So they glue to the screen

Two tickets they need,

Tea after tea, route after route…

Yes, lucky they are

 Two tickets they get

By the window side.

Home they return,

Eyes gleam, hearts splutter,

And they wait for cocks to caw

And they hear the birds

They run to the sleepy station

And catch the mail

And they shriek and shout,

Finally settled,  a call they make

On wheel to their fading friend,

‘Zooloo! we’re almost close to your bed!’