A street in the bazaar,
A busy shopper,
Carrying a soiled
Slightly torn bag
In each hand,
One empty, one full.
Inside it, potatoes, leafy
Vegetables, a small packet
Of garam masala, and chillies,
Red or green.
How I wish I could've been
A ten-rupee note
And found shelter
In his bag.
But I was holed up
Inside my own.