Nostalgia

A poem I wrote based on an experience with my dad.

So recently I went to Old Delhi. Not your typical touristy Chandni Chowk Old Delhi but the place where my dad grew up.

“I grew up in these streets,” he said
“Went to school there.”
“Let’s go inside? Shall we? I want to show you the place.”
“Yes, it’s changed. It’s changed but it’s somewhat the same.”

Continues straight
Takes a few turns
The weather isn’t hot
But the sun kind of burns
But he walks
We follow

“There, you see that orange gate? That’s where we lived.”
“Climb on,” he said. “I want you to see.”
“That room, that was mine. And there, there’s where we flew kites.
These roads, they’ve changed
but not one bit.
Used to have a friend named Bunty staying in that house.
And that one, had an open ground.
Used to play cricket there.
And cycle there, there and everywhere.”

Walk a little ahead
Enter a crowded street
Things to buy
So much to eat
The roads all decorated for Diwali
People blaring horns
But we walk on
In search for the next destination

“Let’s have these kachodis, they are good.
Oh, you want gol gappas?
Let’s have that too”

Walks some more

“Even these kachodis are good, try some.
And even this shop, amazing.
Eat the kachodis here too.”

Continues to walk

“Played cricket in this compound, did you know.
That was the wicket, this line a four, that wall a six,
Rode the cycle here
Was always up to tricks.”

Some more walking

“This mandir, started coming when I was three, every Tuesday
I’m 48 now
The habit hasn’t left me.
Let’s go now.”

We continue to walk
My dad, brother and I
There are clustered shops
Hand carts
People selling things on the streets
These roads of Shahdara
Just a place for me until now
Now hold stories
Memories