Some things are still free.
On my way home last night-Osama and Diana, the glorious mongrels I met outside the chemists, and silly talked with.
The flute seller who seemed so happy just playing on that crowded road so late at night.
The just-subtle scent of jasmine- marigold strands at the garland sellers.
That cheque that I’d given up on a long time ago.
Its scorching at 37 degrees and some.
But some things are still free.