Out of a rickshaw on a rainy day

A mangy dog dips his tongue
into a dark puddle
The trees above shake their shadows and
their leaves scatter upon the
asphalt, a splashing.

A man perches on a red mottled LPG cylinder,
a fluorescent yellow hard hat on his head,
Sipping a glass of Chai
as the Chaiwala stirs tea
he accepts the change.

A truck full of youths in white
with saffron tags
cheer for the coming of Ganesha
as they grab onto the rope harness
as the driver brakes.

Flowers arranged on
the florist's bench
peer out of their plastic covers
leering and sniggering
as kids struggle with their many bags and one raincoat.

I speak in a foreign tongue for an hour or two
yet as I walk back,
I can feel the distant light descend in
on the wet city but
traffic lights make up
new decorations.
The street looks like a snake
and that Diwali comes rolling in from all the
streets into an intersection of
prismatic charms and a hundred and one
patterned umbrellas.