The old worn tablecloth at Koshy’s
also waits for Rohini Venkatesh Malur.
The red squares -
bleached by years,
and fluorescent light
and the weight of elbows of varying girth
and tender coconut soup (no longer served here)
and meandering conversations
and mobile radiation
and insinuations -
are now a bleating shade of pink.
On the neighbour’s laptop, one reads,
‘Drones will soon deliver packages’.