Clad in tattered white and a toothy smile
She huddled beside me on the rickety minibus
I didn’t say hello, never asked why
She told me anyway, her destination was the Ultadanga
Terminus.
The Transport Department were pussies, she said,
In terms more colorful than I can in decency convey
The municipality? A bunch of thieves!
Sprayed diluted pesticide, never swept the leaves.
Her husband, she said, had been an officer,
Might’ve been a peon or an auditor.
Either way, he showed ‘em their place
Fought the good fight a fortnight, then vanished without
a trace.
Swatting a mosquito with dirt-stained fingers,
She told me the Chief Minister will die of Dengue fever.
Rubbed her face with the frayed ends of an ancient saree
Assured me the state of the nation was quite dreary.
Had she been in government? A private petitioner?
Her nephew’s in the Assembly, her son a commissioner.
She has nothing to be afraid of, she’s quite sure
At 82, there ain’t much she hasn’t endured.
Gazed out the window when the conductor came by
Muttered about inflation and ignored his cries.
I bought two tickets, one for the Ultadanga Terminus
The man cursed, she smiled, I got off the bus.
