Every time I walk a new street. I take a look at the ground I walk. The street walked by thousands every day, millions in a life time. The people change, walking fast in a running time frame, cross cross, shadows of sun and shade. I stand there in a summer dress ready to brave the heat and dust. The habitation on the foot path, the tea stalls, dingy make shift capes, of cycles and cars parked, of hap hazard trees, of cobbled broken street, of beggars and waiting shopkeepers, of busy staff, of watch your step, of cow dung and sleeping dogs, of open drains, of dirty water pools,
of stolen moments in AC shops, of polite conversations and time pass talks, of knick knacks in hidden corners, end of the shelves, of scanning the nooks, of finding something different, a toy, a souvenir from the past, of humid air and floating dust, of sleeping homes and ceiling fan air and rickety chairs, of high wooden cupboards, of tiredness seeping in with heavy weather, of haggling and smiling at closing of the deal, of some mineral water and some snack.
Back home after a day long walk. That's Streetwala out to find its story.