Slumming in Bombay, Beelzebub

found himself at home. Finally, he
had a reason for lethargy.
Inert like everybody, unable to work,
he blamed the humidity.
No use to say, 'But B,
that's what this city does, man, saps you,
leaves you spent like change,
separates the dudes from the ditties.'
He was having none of it,
and then the boss arrived, unexpected,
on a Sunday.
But the boss - now what? - had changed.
Hard as it was to believe,
she was kind, distracted, funny,
endearing even.
The day she came to take him home,
they were seen at the Hanging Gardens,
hand in hand, watching the dust bees
ride their favourite pollen machines.
It was Christmas Day, just after dawn,
the heat and humidity at peace
it seemed, and Beelzebub's boss serene.


by JEET THAYIL from the collection ENGLISH