by Anupama Krishnakumar
Smelling of filth
Dust-coated unkempt hair
Tattered blouse and all
A wailing child
Clinging to her waist
A brown slant
Stamped on her back
Lathi-struck of course.
She knocks
Relentlessly
On shiny windows which
Mask the impatience
Inside.
Could be a good soul
Or a care-a-damn one –
Hard heartedness is
Her only shield
Coin or no coin
A stare or no stare
One wave of the hand
Or no wave
She persists
Just thirty seconds
To the dot.
She, the battered
woman at a busy
traffic signal.
Bald patch
Bloodshot eyes
A drooping moustache –
Robbing him
Of all manliness.
He stumbles along
Rugged footpaths
Swearing
Barking
Puking.
Stray dogs sniffing
His over-patched pants
He stinks of
Carelessness
Shamelessness
Moneyless-ness.
Shoved away
By irritated people
Crisply dressed
On their way to work.
He hoots, whistles
Calls out
To a pretty woman
‘Hey, you..
Will you be my mistress?’
This empty-headed
Drunkard of a bastard.
Oversized gown
Sweeping the roads
A broken toy
For company
She loiters along
A shopping street
Poor little girl
Window shopping.
Dazzled, excited
Open mouthed
She stares
At mannequins
Pretty shoes and dolls.
Lodging her dirty
Little finger
Between her teeth
She gazes longingly
At the pretty red dress –
This ill-fated
Seven-year-old –
When the man
In a long black coat
Who limps and begs
Spots and whisks her away
To a side street
And in the darkness
Reaches out
Feeling her
The blissfully unaware
Poverty-ridden child
In places forbidden.
Every day he thinks
And tries too
To work hard – selling
Cheap plastic cars
One day
Newspapers and mags
On another
Wipes cars at the signal
Sometimes
Polishes shoes
At other times.
With the dream
Of a businessman
And desire burning
Inside his heart
He waits for
A good day
To unfold.
Disheartened
He sleeps night
After night
Commission and bribe
Robbing him of sweat-coated
Rolled up notes
Leaving only a few coins.
This bright morning
He grins, albeit wickedly
A wad of thousands laugh
As he plans for his poor family
Mother, father, two sisters –
He just turned a pick-pocket.
Anupama Krishnakumar loves Physics and English and sort of managed to get degrees in both – studying Engineering and then Journalism. Yet, as she discovered a few years ago, it is the written word that delights her soul and so here she is, doing what she loves to do – spinning tales for her small audience and for her little son, bringing together a lovely team of creative people and spearheading Spark. She loves books, music, notebooks and colour pens and truly admires simplicity in anything! Tomatoes send her into a delightful tizzy, be it in soup or rasam or ketchup or atop a pizza! She blogs at http://anuforyou.blogspot.com
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