Ride To Home

Tingling down the alleyway,

Along the stone paved path,

Pedalling past the ancient houses,

Whistling, I rode my bicycle.

 

Merrily waving at the woman,

She sat with her tea at the chowki,

Tired and drowsy from the day’s toils,

Yet her warm smile lighting up the dusk.

 

The smell of pepper in the air

As the wives toiled over supper;

The smell of ghee in the air,

Awakening my hunger.

 

As I passed the playing grounds,

The kids abandoning their games,

Ran behind me, yelled for me;

Curiosity and childhood innocence is so pleasing.

 

By the seventh house down the fifth alley,

I passed this paradise every day,

Just to glance at the youthful gait

Of the merchant’s daughter and her friend;

 

And as I passed the marketplace,

Dusk had fallen, it was evening;

The grocer’s wife looked surly,

Ruffling the rupees from the day’s sales.

 

As darkness fell, and home was close,

I passed by the betel leaf seller,

Surrounded by old men with beards,

With scarlet mouths and clothes unwashed.

 

Twas an hour’s ride every day,

From work to my home sweet home,

Down the same stone paved paths,

I would go, whistling, riding, every day.