Deep Breath

As I walk into the narrow alleyway I can’t help but wince at the smell that seems to emanate from the little pile of trash at its mouth. You get used to it though, a few seconds later no memory of the smell remains. The tea shop is but a few paces down the lane, right where it had been when Calcutta was my home. The dust of the streets swirled freely around my aching head. Still the same old man at the tea-stall though. His children were older, not he – people stop growing after a certain age.
“Dada, ek cha.”
“Haan, bethiay."