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Poem

It's on one of those cold Bengaluru evenings
When you've begun to contemplate
About how your life has led you to this point
of desolation.
Who are you and what have you done
To the energetic, happy-go-lucky boy
With dreams of building mansions on the moon?
And yes, to the world outside,
It may seem like you're playing a piano,
But there's something plastic about the keys
And toneless about the touch.
Your decisions are to be interrogated for the millionth time.
Who made this road for you?
And why did you take it?
Which signboards sing songs of success?
Are you really being yourself?
Or have you lied yourself into compromise?
Have you sold out your visions for superficial stability?
Your life of strolling the streets
And photographing the world
Replaced by scrolling tabs
And ticking boxes in task-lists.

And yet, somehow you manage to find
Happiness- across the table in the smiles of 'Bhaji' and 'Samosa'.
You find happiness in the excitement that
Drenched you in your pursuit of two free mugs during 'happy hour'.
You find happiness in the punjabi songs that
Console you in the moments of stagnation in life and in the lanes.
And you find comfort in recognizing
A moment turning into a memory
And as the mugs clink in the air,
In hands cold with doubt,
You say cheers to drinking mango cider in the rain,
Although you may need another stout.
You may need another stout.

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