Hand in hand they frolicked into the Bazaar,
Instantly reminded of the endless afternoons spent here,
Sitting at the red stone, icecream running down their arms
Seated at their usual table at the dhaba,
They reminisced about the laughter they had shared.
At the same spot, 20 years
Where magic first struck,
Under the unexpected rainfall in the summer.
Hand in hand,
They strutted into the roadside Monday Bazaar
Red bangles clinking against the ben-10 band,
He watched the smiles on their faces,
As they chatted about the bhaiya that sat at this very spot, selling vibrant flowers
Not understanding the conversation, but a huge smile plastered on his face nevertheless,
Perhaps,
It is the love that their smiles glistened with,
Speaking about someone they loved in his absence,
It reminded him of his mom’s big hug’s, the woolen sweater she made for him,
It reminded him of warmth.
Hand in hand, they carefully walked in,
To pick up the flowers and fruits for the day.
Her frail hands, gripping his frail hands,
Reminding them of the love that they shared,
At this very fruit stand 60 years ago.
He picked the flowers as she picked the fruits
Sneakily, putting one in her hair
They smiled like they were 17 again,
Walking back,
Hands and hearts,
Both full of love.
