It’s yet another morning in the bus
Though not quite another day—for
The world seems to be moving and
We sit oblivious of all the fuss.
The city moves as it usually would
Rounding the usual turns and stopping
At all crossings— wherever and
Whenever it should.
Except when in a challenging mood
It ignores the red light, comes
Jumping at the innocent driver,
Who would rather, (be happier if) it stood.
It throws up, like on any other day
The odd buffoons from the wrong side
Evoking tired honks from our bus
In the most vainly didactic way.
It stops at all the required places
Throwing in the same known people
Some smiling their usual smile
Others wearing their indifferent faces.
There is one boarder petite
Having smeared her smiles on the lip-stick
Scowls away at the approaching bus
‘Coz, it just doesn’t come right.
But just before her, there is one more lady
Even as the bus comes hurtling down
She smiles away to glory, displaying ease
Having double-dared characters even more shady.
She’s wonderful, is not at all fussy
In picking her seat of choice
Since she loves to talk across with someone
And caught in the middle must always be me.
The conversation is continuous
And so extremely lively
That I strain to hear the engine “ping”
And the rackety melody of the bus.
Some undertones are vernacular too
Like an incessant chatter on a cell
Shooing off in a mix of three different languages
A suitor at the other end, who’s desperately trying to woo.
Then there’s the guy high on yogic sedation
Trying to bore to death
Companions having their rightful fire and spirit
Extolling to them the elusive joys of meditation.
Sleeping without awareness are quite a few
Heads down on backs of the seats in front
And when they wake up at the office gate
They wake up fresh as flowers with drops of dew.
