This city is a riot,
a riot of tints and
tones,
it is full of monsters
and men,
of the chivalrous and the
boorish,
of women with wings clipped
to their backs,
the rich and the poor,
the kind and the cruel,
the young and the old
stand tall at the sunrise and
crumble after sunset,
never are the streets sombre,
look around,
you’re flanked by glares and
laughter,
cups of tea are passed around
the tables
while an outlier sips on his
coffee,
saunter in wonder,
the cadence of different prayers
envelops you as
several religions co-exist with
grace,
let me tell you how
biryani is one of them,
there’s constant rush and
fragments of calm,
tell me what’s this city if
not a
beautiful riot?