Neighbourhood

On the narrow steps leading to our gate,
the pakoriwallah from Bihar is often found
kissing an anonymous woman at night.

Amazing act. My parents switch off the sitting-room
lights whenever this happens. The car beams show
them up -- one unbroken secret silhouette.

The steps invite other actions. The local fakir some-
times lies there, coloured like a ditch, and passers-by
might climb to have a better look at the orange trees.

But this is different. The soft-spoken pakoriwallah
smelling of his pakoris, his half hour island of
defiant passion on the steps of somebody's house,

while around him everyday: the brash freeloaders,
the kick in the groin, the familiar words of abuse
spoken in an unfamiliar language.

By Anjum Hasan, from Street on the Hill, Sahitya Akademi (2006)