THE WOMAN AT THE TRAFFIC SIGNAL
Five flyovers away was the library
My life raced on the wheels of my red car
The steering wheel under my hands
Thoughts drifted and melted away
Like the traffic passing by
And then a missed turn
Just four flyovers
And I thought it was five
Sometimes lazy thoughts make you miss
The signposts
They mock and laugh at your distractions
I took the side road
where the traffic signal stopped my tracks
It was then that I saw her
Salt and pepper hair
Dark skin ,a tweed shawl draped around her form
A brown bag hung like a beaver bird’s nest on a frail branch
One hand entwined around the strap to hold it in place
Another ,holding a long cylindrical pack
She was elegant
Her body language
Her winning smile
More sophisticated than the woman in chiffons
In a black Honda city
No obvious sign of dejection when the thick,oily man in the hyndai accent
Shrugged his shoulders and waved her away
So thick were his shoulders that only the movement of the crisp white collars up and down
Suggested his indifference to her presence
So thick was her presence that I kept looking at her
The smile on her countenance was wane
She came closer
I saw her eyes
Limpid pools with a lustreless twinkle
Blurred by the haze of the early morning fog
It was 9 am
Please pull down the window pane... she gestured
The foggy eyes became vividly clear as I rolled the screen down
That was the only shield that separated us.
The two sides
And a door
Please buy these incense sticks
But I don’t really need them
My voice sounded alien to my ears as my hand reached out to the zip of my bag
They’re special
Rose and musk and chamomile
40 rs
I’ll take it for 30
The smile ,the eyes,
She was beautiful
Serenity ,her forehead revealed
Though ravages of time had left deep gullies on her face
I took two packs
The light turned green
The incense sticks lay on the seat beside me
The musty smell of books in the library
40 rs..linguistic psychology
They’re special..hmm
Brian Tomlinson..Materials Development..language teaching
Rose and musk and chamomile
The silence in the library was deafening
My ear drums were pounding
I picked up my bag
Back home,a coffee mug in my hands
I wait for my family
In the beaver bird’s nest
The feathered lives return to the cozy comfort of their homes
They will be back soon
My anchors in life
I casually touch my hair
Fragrance of lime and apple in the shampoo
Refresh my senses
They are lustrous and black
They will be salt and pepper one day
In my living room,
the incense stick makes swirling patterns in the air
No comments:
Post a Comment