Ravi asks me to wait, he'll give me a ride.
Delhi is quiet now, he'll give me a ride.
He saw many, taken in trucks, go for a ride.

A man with a face as flat as a hand
steps up and says, Keep Discipline,
Emergency means Discipline,
then falls back, silent.

Across the street, on a terrace two stories high,
a silhouette
hits out and runs, hits nothing, runs.

Twenty years on, its feet broken,
will its hands fly to its face when a light's switched on?
Will it lie on a plank for days, twisting a handkerchief?

It has my best wishes.

I wish it a straighter back, a stronger earth,
I wish it a game that won't cripple.

Ravi studies his car keys and is silent.
Clouds, not far, make a noise
like MiGs flying in low.

The boy continues his game
of make-believe cricket.