Two decades ago

When Indian towns had not morphed

Into monster cities full of stink and snarls,

Each one of God’s creatures had got their aashiyana, modest or big, but a home

And a sanctuary of their own, times were simple then and neighbors were family;

Now, that is preserved only in few grainy shots taken on small cameras borrowed or bought with pocket money over a long period of time, a camera that made us smile, despite little possessions and low wages that could buy a lot;

In a grey Mumbai washed by stray clouds on this August mid-afternoon---they say it is all due to climate change, meager rainfall or excess---when the droplets descend and settle on wires and cables and few tree tops, a raven shakes off these and searches for a home---

---As do a stray dog and a vagabond in a city of Mercedes and other fancy cars---

Aashiyana is forever lost

Only glass cages for the MBAs

And other skilled tribes

For others

A pad in a distant suburb

Long commutes, press of bodies

No sunset or sunrise

Only watch wired into an overworked mind.

Home---office; office---home.

Work---work---work.

What is aashiyana, btw?