Yeh Dilli hai mere yaar

i miss the red brick walls
with some patches of pink and grey.
the rickshaws that drove faster
than normal legs could take.

And eat the chholey kulche 
made in large tin vessels
on the roadside, 
and Bunta near the gates.

Where PKKs were a rage
and colour coded
bags, bangles, ear rings and lipsticks
fashioned the place.

Where pierced nose
straightened hair (with blonde stripes!)
and one legged anklets
would always stay

Where ideals were fought
with passion and blood
and many more broken
and newly made.

Where Kurta, jhola
and chappals,
all made perfect sense.

I miss the life
that was constantly happening
while it always remained the same
just the faces changed.

The loud garish people
with warm, colourful hearts
with more colourful balloons
during Holi days

The place which calls itself

the heart of hindustan

And has some of the best brains

and brawns of the world

I miss it for all this
but more for the ones
who shared my laughter
and my grief
and they are still there
where 'We' used to be...