3 pm

to tellers of tales
of the night and the dark and its terrors,

imagine -

calm, tinted golden light leaks in
through khaadi curtains
which keep the heat out
but sometimes slip up
and let the warm 3 pm breeze in.

the sonchapha flowers that i wore yesterday
now hang on the window grille -
their smell sauntering in every so often,
leaving you wistful for
that book you saw at kitaab khana.

in an attempt to bring you back,
in between offering you
foods, and drinks,
i read you my favourite poems
by jaan nisar akhtar and kamala das
and akhil katyal and warsan shire,
maybe even slip in a verse
from a mehdi hassan ghazal.

hopefully,
we settle on a glass of g&t,
and you tell me you liked
"mat roko inhein, paas aane do,
ye mujh se milne aaye hain,"

but if that doesn't work,
i settle down with my sarod
and play a moody multani,
occasionally humming an alap
to break the monotony of the string.

the house will wake up now:
curtains will be opened,
utensils will clang, water will run,
tea will brew.
you will still be welcome.

give the afternoon a chance,
spend it with me?