| Kashyap Bhattacharya |
| USA Idle Thoughts Of A
It played….on and on in her mind. Those lines. "Sorry but I don’t love you" "Why?" "I can’t tell you…not now...please understand me" "Is it another women?" Conductor walks up to her. HEY LADY…YOU FALLING ASLEEP! WAKE UP...PLEASE. LOOK!...CAREFUL!…… HERE COMES A POTHOLE……………………. The bus shudders. She grips the iron bar in front of her firmly. Winces…… Comfortably negotiated…her face relaxes. Then she stares outside. The lake seems so peaceful today. So calm. Undisturbed. Lush and green after the monsoon rains. She sees lovers. Walking. Holding hands. Pathetic smiles on their faces. The beady eyes of the man ogle at the girl’s generous cleavage. She realizes that the girl’s aware of it………………….. Awww…you dirty bitch! Dress like a tramp. That’s all you do….. He’ll soon tire of you. Leave you for another whore!
"Life is too short for misunderstandings" She tells herself. "Have to move on." Pauses. "After all...I have a life of my own." Someone whispers in her ear…….. "A life?" "You’re 32!" "Bags around the eyes already……." "The lines have appeared on your face" "You have no job" "No children too..." "A LIFE!!!!" Like an uncanny familiar tune. It plays on and on……in her mind. "Who will marry me now?" Opens her eyes and sees the face of the conductor.
Sees that the bus has stopped. Everyone is staring at her. The conductor was shouting something at her………. OHHHH LADY…YOU FALLING ASLEEP AGAIN! WAKE UP! YOUR BUS-STOP HAS ARRIVED……….
FAR FROM THE MADDENING CROWD
Through the crack of this window My ears flow out, into, The dead air of this city. Catching, The wailing sound of the police siren, Driving up the street, Crashing…… Into the saxophone on the corner, then Fading away, To the soft clink of coins on the pavement. Sees, One rolling into the drain. Hears, The ebullient flow of water in the sewage. Clear and calm. Against the relentless pounding of the traffic above. Watches, The disorientated notes of the car horn The angry monosyllable of the angry taxi driver Rise, Spread, Into the air above. The atoms of its sound particles, Growing looser and weaker, In the eyes of the Pigeon Perched, High above, On the railing of my verandah.
Far from the madding crowd. Where she, coos softly, Observing and approving, What she sees and hears With a curt nod of, the head.
© Copyright, Kashyap Bhattacharya, 1999. |
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