When I go to a new city—its walls, gates;

people, agitated, confused; shops, bazaars;

new idols, old statues of famous men;

sad hospitals, the sick in long queues;

the telegraph office, railroad bridges, theatres, telephone poles;

half-naked trees lining the roads;

everywhere ads for drugs to cure every ill—

everything here attracts me,

this new city, a dream city.

Perhaps because here

there’s no one whom I burden with my life;

here, no one—no acquaintance, nor companion,

nor friend, nor beloved—knows my faults.

.

From: Yāden̲ (Remembrances), 1963. pp. 234 – 35