The sound of damru
Interrupts my Sunday Statesman,
From my fourth-floor balcony
I stare at the source
A sloth bear is guided
By his trainer,
The black sheen on Jambuvan
Has been greyed by the city
The Kalandar, equally dishevelled
Walks miles to earn a few rupees;
I can only sigh –
The wilderness has been tamed
Brought so close to our city,
Yet are there any takers?
Once upon a time
We would be excited by the damru
Today’s kids – they must be busy
Watching Pokemon
Or firing with their Play-stations
Who has time for a sloth bear?
Suddenly I feel old,
Tired, I take off my glasses
And feel how time seems frozen
In the world around me
I look around –
The sloth bear,
The Old English font
On the Statesman paper
The knife sharpener,
The grinder of the stone, shouting
‘Shil katabe,’
The malai-kulfi seller
They all feel like migrants
From a different time
People trapped unknowingly
In No-Man’s Land
I look at my own reflection
On a window pane
And wonder,
How am I any different?
The bear and his trainer
Outpaced by time in a big city
And I, lost in the migrations of
space
In a big world
‘Ma, ma, look, a bear!’
The kids on the apartment above
me
Usher spring
In my frozen river of time
‘Can you ask him to stop?’
The noises of my busy city come
back
I can smell the Sunday chicken
curry
Someone is cooking even today…
23rd August 2026
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