this is why we dont have an equivalent of "bon appetite" or "bon profit" in hindi.

for best results: read aloud in sweet and sour sauce.
don't forget to relish and garnish.
bon appetite, bon profit

An afternoon trip
to the wholesale vegetable market
in North Delhi,
could be more adventurous
than looking down at the earth and
finding uncharted plastic islands.
On the carved wooden floor of the local bus
stand many more doers of anatomical grafitti,
than all of the sufis everborn combined.
At the red light
jumps in a man,
in police uniform,
a policeman with a walky talky
antenna raised.
He claims in perfect rhyme and urgency,
holding a cut-out of Krishna from a greeting card
pasted on a beach-ball racket
"a 3 yr old has gone missing ,
and he who finds him will be awarded fifteen thousand."
for a minute you buy into his story
as the new street theatre
but then you hear the bus conductor
talk about his diligent dementia.


At the blessed market,
seas of sweet smelling
rainsoaked
mashed and soiled vegetable spares
await your arrival.
Table fans drying onions of the colour of brinjal,
are being sold at the price of gold.
On such a day,
everybody is looking for onions.
Men lie on mounds of cauliflower leaves
tossing soggy tomatoes into the sea
of uncooked vegetable curry,
splashing sprinkles on your back.
Some claim with all their pride accumulated
that the spinach is hybrid,
joy as wide as their pan-stained smiles.
You decide to alter your menu and leave
out the saag.
Dreams and bubbles of seasonal fruit,
fresh green vegetables,
Gajjarella, sweet carrot halva
burst for ever and ever more.

You return to stitch your grandma's
old and tearing saree into
tiny bags of glee.
tiny bags of lentils
stay
soaking
and
sunbathing
and
sprouting
against the larger picture
of the highway traffic
at Mangolpuri.