What do you want to be when you grow up?

I wanted to be the Grandpa who would sit in the same spot at the bus station and watch the buses go by every day for the last two years.

I wanted to be everyone eating alone.

I wanted to be the kid with a lollipop in his mouth.

I wanted to be the autowala who snapped into a song as he drove me home.

I wanted to be the old man whose phone wallpaper was a passport-size photo of his mum and dad.

I wanted to be the guy setting up his fruit stand.

I wanted to be the same fruit seller, who, when his wife brought him water, pinched both of her cheeks and then looked around to see if anyone was watching.

I wanted to be the painter wearing painter-pants.

I wanted to be the bhelpuri stirrer who said hi without looking up.

I wanted to be the boy who crossed the road, hopping. Hopping.

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