Tuesday, May 15, 2007
A crude profession.
Her abode infested with pigs and drains.
The world spat on her.
Abused and molested everyday,
Sublime pleasures awaken no more,
Numb to most emotions,
At times an abnormal burst of the long suppressed emerges.
Her customers many,
From the pot bellied orthodox family man to the immensely respected takur.
Any man’s greatness scared her not.
She knew them all.
Their secrets, fantasies and frustration pour out to the one person who listens.
The sun had risen,
Time to pay and leave.
The agitated wife awaited at home,
A saree or an occasional jewel, and her heart would be soothed.
Her eye balls moved with the flapping curtains,
The sun dazzled her eyes.
The last man of the night had just left.
A nice bath and all would be washed away.
Would the takur come today ?
She liked him, he was kind to her.
Another long day and then the night again.
- 9 / 3 / 2006