It is noisy chaos,
Delhi at its best,
Impatient horns, smoky guffaws,
tired engines, shouts, dust,…
The lotus, but, shines in the mud.
Pulling the carrier rickshaw she is unfazed,
Two kids, a goat, a bundle of poor provisions
safely in tow,
Like a valiant captain at the best row.
Clad in a dirty saree
she shines like a queen,
I don’t think femininity had ever been
so illustrious in its sheen.
Meanwhile, madly mechanized world hisses,
But its lolloping tongue meekly kisses
the dirt on her hardened feet,
She pulls the rickshaw with pride
in full maternal heat,
Cramped for space she turns the tide,
The goat and the kids though panicked,
but the mother carries on the fight
in the traffic jam,
Fights for space with utmost grace,
and clears like a swiftest deer’s brace.
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