In the traffic jam today

Kissan-pink bougainvillea
gather dust as the city twists
to face the summer

In a clamour of scooters: two
men in periwinkle shirts,
no helmets. The sun lights
up one's face as he turns
pillion to laugh

A DTC bus exhales,
heaving to a halt ahead.
The gamcha hanging off my auto
puffs in its wake

Red rearranges to green.
In anticipation
we growl sharply 
to the left, as if about to
take flight –

We want for wings.
We stutter instead
to a stop, stationed 
right where we were,
bound seemingly for
nowhere