She stood there shaking. Tried hard not to..but couldn't help it. A pale coloured sari which may have been of a brighter shade once upon a time... it was as crumpled as her skin. Her blouse was torn at the shoulder..but alas it made no fashion statement. Her straight, white hair contrasted against her tanned, wrinkled face. Long ear-lobes with widened holes...a mocking reminder of heavy gold earrings she once owned. Green coloured plastic bangles adorned her wizened hands..no sound they made when they clinked against each other. She needed a stick for support..but that would cost her a month's meals...holding onto side-bars was cheaper. And chappals? She last owned a pair 4 years ago.
Amidst the crowds, she stood alone. In a land where madness drives peoples' lives, she strove for her sanity. Where rushing is second nature, she fought to stand still. Stairs of Platform 1, Western railways, Dadar station. Thats her permanent local address, until she's shooed by the railway police to some other desolate spot. Young collegians, middle aged office-goers hurried past her, but she knows it will take a kind-hearted lady or a god-fearing senior citizen to be her next meal-provider. till then she waits...killing herself and her dignity.
I wouldn't have spared a second thought for her. I couldn't. I shouldn't. How come I did?? Coz she looked a lot like my own grandma. But shamefully, thats all I did.
