The chauffer-driven cars line the whole street,the lights,the music all exuberates the sense of power.The host holds a position of importance and so do most of the guests.The diwali party is more about politics,wine and faux smiles.
Just around the corner the security guard stands looking at the lit-up sky,maybe wondering about his family back in village.The policeman at the gate smiling and wondering when will he get a cup of tea or just a glass of water.The drivers waiting in a huddle ,sharing a smoke,and anecdotes about childhood diwalis back home.
Inside the air is thick with smoke from imported cigars and envious looks.The wine and the women all looking desperate to be the best.The waiters tryin to get the exotic names right wondering what maa must be cooking tonight.
On the roads of the rich,power-hungry city ,autowallahs hoping to make an extra buck for their little one,rickshawallah attempting to fight the cold and the longing with a big dose of cheap booze,cars running mad to attend maximum parties....
Delhi-the young-old lady mesmerising as ever.
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