An outing with friends
On a cold wintry night
sipping the Starbucks latte
we drove around the city,
discussing the leitmotifs
in a Director’s cut
we had watched that evening
on reclining seats with ottomans
and warm blankets to cover our feet.
In Jimmy Choo heels
clutching Louis Vuitton bags,
we planned for fancier cars
and holidays in Provencal France.
Bitched about indolent maids
and the meddlesome in-laws.
Ranted about the wearisome life in general
And the overbearing bosses in particular.
Made fuss over the Sabyasachi ensembles,
For the friend’s destination wedding next year.
We cursed the government that
wasted tax payers’ money copiously
and the uncouth people at large
for spitting and pissing all over the city.
The harangue went on and on about
the myriad discomforts of our lives
till the time we saw her,
the one with the vacant eyes.
She stood on the side walk,
her clothes tattered and torn
her hair a lifeless brown and shorn
her youthful body contrasting
with the ancient stoic face.
Silent now in the snail-paced traffic,
we soberly passed by her
and saw her survey the footpath
to rest her weary bones
under the cold street light.
-Neha Bansal
-Neha Bansal
