We ran, fought and climbed up the wrong
side of the slide– to bleed from all of God-
made joints. The stench was what held us
together like mosquitoes over a month-old
water puddle. And later, the hot water stung
the life out of us through wound openings–
and we sang songs in solidarity to stay alive.
Skin as soft as lard turned into scabs that
ached sweetly as we planned to wage wars
on gravel heaps only to fall on our faces
and knock out all the milk-teeth that never
stood a chance against our Piccadilly Circus
lifestyle.

Megha is a nineteen-year-old, first-year student at Gujarat National Law University. She hails from the noisy city of Kolkata but hasn’t made her peace with the humidity yet. She sings at parties if asked persistently. Her writing has previously been published in magazines like eFiction India, Textploit, Apricity, and Saintbrush.