Train this morning.
The tightly packed general coach
Teeming with labourers.
Shabby clothes, smell of
Alcohol. Loud desi music.
Many sitting on the floor.
Reclinerd near the toilets.
A guy sleeping near the door.
A few toppling over him while
Boarding down. He's not
Bothered by their cussing.
Two sitting at the door,
Swaying thier legs out.
Taking a fight with whoever
Is spitting from the window.
Young boys with foul tongues
Laden with lunch boxes.
Headed to earn daily wages.
The system got them
Before they could grow up.
Every face is almost a mirror.
A guilt ridden awareness
Keeps reflecting my relative
Eliteness.
Two college girls in Burkha
Dare enter this male abode.
But withdraw suddenly as
There wasn't any space.
I was more anxious by their
Advent than they themselves.
Because I know all about
The male gaze?
Seems rich of me to think
Something like that.
Who am I to judge their
Lives anyway?
The train spits us off shortly.
Everyone starts walking.
I see the swaying lunchboxes
In the hands of those boys.
The crumpled ticket I throw
Falls just beside the dustbin.
My indifference gleams in it
As I walk off.