Sukrita .
Sukrita?s poetry lives and breathes the world of everyday turmoil: the homeless shivering in the rain; the guard at the Viceregal Lodge recounting his strange fascination for the cold, blue eyes of his former masters; the transience of memory; the fear of looking too closely, lest one?s suspicions be confirmed; the loneliness of old age in a cold country ...Gulzar?s translations ? the ?original? that lurked somewhere in the English poems, perhaps ? bring to life ...