The rhythmic clinking of her bangles, rotis piling around
Nagarjun’s pink bangles, wheels spinning around

The smell of evening flowers lingers in the air
You are saying something but no one is listening around

Drink, after drink, roving eyes, hands, mouths
All the misters in a desi party leering around

A sweet little lie on the tip of her tongue
With what finesse she ventures peddling it around

“You know only bland things can be held down”
There is any way too much masala going around

Restless eyes, her limp hair, she chews on her lower lip
Fidgeting with the end of her dupatta, looking around

He set sails on the high seas every other month
She got bored and took to sleeping around

“I think her kid is very rude”
Mrs. Makhija announced, shaking her head around

Your smile slipped from the edge of the glass
What stories has your belly been carrying around?

Don’t go by the daintiness of her feet
Her forearms have carried the weight of everything around

Birds of a gender flock together
“Oye, you there, ya you, no fucking around”

There is a dance we do at the end of every do
You chit-chat and avoid relevant anything around

“Why on earth are you wearing green?”
“Envy, is anyway, gallivanting around”

Give away your heart to that boy Das
For eighteen years he’s been hovering around

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