Those were the days
we wore fervour like summer hats,
set foot on dizzy afternoons
to wander alleys like lost cats.
Shopaholic was our second name
we carried with mammoth pride.
We glided across random streets
at the busiest markets
like the baggage on conveyor belts
with our eyes scanning through
every outlet we zoomed past.
The clothes, the accessories, the artefacts,
the laptop tables
what not!
We lapped on softies,
ate at Biryani joints,
sunk under shady corners.
We learned how to bargain,
we aced at negotiations.
We insisted on rain checks at stores
that ran out of stock.
A decade later, here we are
decluttering home every Sunday morning
like a ritual that blesses us with inner peace
as though the bigger the clutter
the more contented the grins.
Somewhere along the decade,
we witnessed a few greys, a few wrinkles
and gallons of wisdom.
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