Trying to make myself comfortable in the relatively cozy window seat of the not so giant bus, i pull the window glass open. The noice of the heavy rains is now being slowly masked by the noise of honking vehicles, local vendors, from crys of uncomfortable child to crowing of the crows.. In the midst of all the noise i hear silence. I rather refer it as i could see silence..
With bones sticking out her wrinkled skin she was trying to craft a perfect cone out of a piece of old news paper. she rolled it a couple of time as her hands were shivering. She then placed it over a row of neatly crafted paper cones.She now reaches to pick up a worn out wooden spatula and moves it over a old aluminium vessel as to fry something. She now used the same piece of old news paper to insulate the part of the vessel which she held.
She quickly picks up a paper cone and fills it with a hanfull of roasted peanuts and hands it over to a man dressed in shabby clothes.Her hands still shivering.He places a 5rupi coin on her hand in exchange and starts walking away. He turns back to the belling noice of the spatula hitting the aluminium vessel. She moves her head close to the coin to confirm its value and then hands over the change to the man. Both exchange brief smiles before he left. She continued with crafting cones and roasting nuts. Once in a while she rested her back onthe pillars that stood tall over the old pavement she worked on.
when it came to children, after handing over the cone filled with nuts she would fill the childs other hand with few more nuts and both would exchange wide toothless smiles. It was an infectious amount of energy around that eightyish year old strong lady..Her life moves on..and she moves on with life.
when it came to children, after handing over the cone filled with nuts she would fill the childs other hand with few more nuts and both would exchange wide toothless smiles. It was an infectious amount of energy around that eightyish year old strong lady..Her life moves on..and she moves on with life.
My mind was occupied with that positive energy untill a young lady in her twenties climbed the bus and droped a handout over me. She was wearing a pretty pink saree. she seemed strong enough to run a marathon and pretty enough to walk on a ramp. But the letter read "Disabled". She collected the notes and coins handed over by passangers out of sympathy with a no gratitude in return. She would mumble something with a cursing face if a passanger refused to hand over money for her "disability". Her life moves on too.. But she remained disabled even in pretty pink..
