PICTURE POETRY
An Ode to My One-Horse Hill Town
A poem about hometowns, growing up, leaving, and coming back.
One November evening,
As the sun set over the Mussoorie Hills,
I looked down again on the Doon Valley that I had loved.
We trudged again over eternal upward-downward slopes,
As hot parathas wore off the cold,
And sleepy mornings became the traffic-clogged Mall Road.
There were detours of the mind.
To school girl stickjaws, Kwality’s ice cream, and pinafores.
Momos at that still-broken-down Tibetan shop.
The iron bench where all wishes-wished came true.
My feet fumbled,
To that favorite library seat,
Where Jenny said “love meant never having to say sorry” and Erich Segal romanced me.
To classrooms and long empty corridors,
Once filled with the voices of children and school bell odes.
To minefield-battleground play fields,
The site of legendary rivalries made, friendships forged.
And to that secret spot,
Where only I knew the best sunset was to be got, always at 6 pm.
