waiting for the bus...

i wait for the bus,
standing next to the cement bench
two people already sitting there, leaving space for just one
a blind girl, aided by a stranger, feels the bench, and sits next.
a burly guy from nowhere, appears, sidles upto her, making room which is not there
he talks to her, slowly holding her hands, and with apparent uncare of others, he fondles her
he cups her boobs, which is well rounded and robust, but evokes no lust to a man, unless his zodiac is libido
i wish to smack him right on his face, but suddenly realises that bravery or chivalry is not a quirk
but product of evolution, not of just rot education.
my blood boils, cuss my spine, for not getting an erection, though shares the same root,
as of another part of me , which always rises up to the wrong occassions. and to wrong reasons
she is upset, another lady, just like me, witness to the whole episode, makes face, and leave the scene,
like a sand, escapes to the bottom of sundial
like any woman to another, goes off the radar, soon as the need arises
the bus comes, i am queing , board the bus,
scenes from mahanadi and manto's "khol do", vaporises and rains on my mind
i just hop off the bus, the driver says the choicest abuses in kannada
sad sex, or bad breakfast, me laughs, pause
me, the blind one who can see, staggers straight to her
the white of her eyes ( no black in her eyes) mocks me squarely, me burns
i see her alone in the bench, the guy disappeared,
me glad since, had i picked fight with him , i would be nursing my wounds by now,
i just want to hold her, console her, but for her, any hand will be a disgusting demon
i see her, thank God, she is not crying
left with no salt to make a tear soup or fortunate enough, not to see the mercy in other eyes
i wait for the bus.