Summers in Delhi and
walking with you
in the Connaught Place arcade for hours
was just a ruse
hunting for bargains in lanes
and by lanes
of feelings and imagination.

A sudden gust of hot wind
holding to our sanity
blew your long hair that day
hiding your face.

You caught me unaware
within the partings of your hair
and a red dupatta sweeping your face.

I saw a turmoil suddenly let loose melting roads far ahead of us.
the sun showed no mercy on
an intensity of another moment in an emerging dust storm.

You held me tight in your sweaty hands
as we ran seeking refuge
behind colors of a season, your bangles, bindis
and lips in an afternoon
of tangled talk.    

  – Dr. Amitabh Mitra
June 15, 2003