The insides of my mind are all messed up

With cross roads and lanes and by lanes

And highways

Fading footfalls of childhood

And childhood friends

Nameless hawkers selling

Nameless musical instruments

Or

Godforsaken pastries in steel trunks

On their heads,

On foot on black, sunburnt streets

Or a dirty old man with a tree of flutes

Floating lazy tunes through the haze of memory

Before long smoke filled the streets

Smoke from car exhausts and tear gas shells

People with eyes narrowed to points of arrows

And tongues like sharp swords fought with passion

For unknown causes

Headlights from passing cars tore open the guts of Kolkata

Footfalls of children were replaced with

Footfalls of escaping convicts

Men in black, with colorful ties and smart looks

Descended on the streets

With sniper guns neatly folded in briefcases

I don’t remember

Where exactly I lost my innocence

In which road

Whether it was morning or noon

Bullets whizzed past me like in a battle field

Thought I was clever and safe

Till blood from my wounds filled my hands

Dripped from the corner of my mouth

People were either sleeping on the pavements

Or were dead

It didn’t really matter

My long term memory is slipping

Temporal lobes or sleep deprivation

Only my mother still calls me for dinner sometimes

The fragrance of her sari around her

The symbol of peace.