Space

I cannot help but laugh when anyone in India talks about space. 1.027 billion people, living in 0.3 foot crammed spaces, longing for personal space. Your best bet would be to get out, buddy.

I need my space.

Damn you. You don’t give me any space.

I was giving you space.

Excuse me, mister. Photograph by Chandana Gupta.

Space, space.

Excuse me, mister.

I lived in America.

I’m used to space…

I’m used to plenty of space…

Ring, ring.

Don’t come by unannounced.

Tring, tring.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

Space, space.

What about my space?

People who have just moved here from a foreign country and spend most of their time complaining about India really irritate me.

Millions of Americans walking around

In space, with space,

So no two can collide

At any pace.

I’m tired of this space.

I’m tired of not seeing your face…

What’s it all about anyways?

See Also

Staccato on the Streets

Don’t bother calling,

You know where I live.

Just come on over.

Surprise me sometimes.

I’d like you in my space.

Outta space.

I wait,

Dressed in lace.

Take me to the moon,

Feed me a space-

Cake!