A working mother of South India
Rushed into a speeding local bus
As a Coimbatore afternoon
Slanted its way to death
On an impersonal mountain-top
Of the uncaring Western Ghats

She had to reach home
Make tea for her man
Back from business
God knows what
And out of bed
After an afternoon snooze
With blood-shot eyes
And yelling kids bespectacled
Just back from school
Hooked to the TV screens
Watching meaningless comics

The bus sped past
Many a speeding stop
Where forlorn puppies wailed
For their mothers barbecued
On fuming tar
Where abandoned mothers begged
For food and alms
Their distraught eyes and stomachs
Afire like the summer sun

The mother had to reach
Her home neverthelsss
Make tea for eyes
Blood-shot or bespectacled
Tucking in her sari pleats

Perspiring all the time
Shaming Arabian perfume
That is Indian womanhood
Pause and salute her silent toil
The unfailing aroma of her sweat