No Sunlight

I wake up at 6 a.m.to yet another gray morning.
An hour later I hobble towards the rickshaw stand.
Below the overcast sky, everything wears a brooding look.
Or is it menacing?
...

There is not a rickshaw in sight.
...
May be, it was menacing.
...
Half an hour later, I am seven minutes late for my usual 7:48 CST local.
The bloody F-O-B is throbbing with bodies.
Bodies, bags,umbrellas,fish,vegetable, beggars,peddlers,TCs.
...
It could have been menacing.
...
I'm still on the bloody F-O-B as the 7:54 CST local pulls into the station.
The sea of bodies suddenly gathers more momentum.
Bags jostle against backs, baskets drip over heads, peddlers elbow beggars.
Someone trips over my long, black umbrella.
Aye Maddamm! Dikhta nahi hai kya?
...
It was definitely menacing!
...
Push,pull,nudge,jump.
Miraculously I'm on board the very crowded 7:54 just as it begins to pull out of the station.
...
We hang on to the edge of the bars, like leaves on a bough.
As rain and wind lash us, soaking every possible thing exposed to it,
Co-foot board traveller1, "Umbrella hatao, my raincoat is getting wet."
Co-foot board traveller 2, standing beside traveller 1,
"Pressure mat dalo, you want to push me out of the train kya?
...
Forty five minutes later, I've survived another breezy foot board journey.
I waddle through mucky water strewn with rotting leaves and paper and plastic
The 8:35a.m. bus no.167 is just limping out of the depot.
Gone.
The black clouds have burst open once more,  with more vengeance.
...
God! It's so menacing!!
...
Seven hours later, again on the foot board,
Soggy and damp, disheveled and worn out,
I muse about crossing over, switching sides, changing jobs,
About chauffeur driven cars, high heels, expensive cotton,
And the sun.
When will it be out again?

At the Bus stop

Her face crumpled into a grimace as she skirted the last of the mucky puddles and reached the bus stand.Despite her best efforts, she noticed, her foot was studded with fine brown dots of muck.A fine wind had been blowing since the morning and it had played truant with her hair. Holding on to her umbrella and her printed cotton duppatta, she stood in queue, waiting for the bus.Idly, she went over her day so far.She had skipped breakfast, missed her usual train and was late yet again for work. But seeing the people and places around, always comforted her. She amused herself with inconsequential details.

Her walk from the railway station to the bus stand was delightfully amusing.It was lined with distinct sights and smells. The earthy smell of wet mud fused into the smell of the fat man's Navy Cut smoke, which mingled with the aroma of steamy, crisp vada pav, which finally merged into the fumes of the taxis in the taxi stand. Then there was the bovine cow, just at the steps of the foot over bridge. It was always there, ruminating on cud while commuters hustled past it, making a pit stop only to touch it for a moment and seek its blessings before the lugubrious work day started.  

There were many more. But today something else amused her.She quizzically looked around as she heard a Bollywood song playing somewhere in the background. She thought she saw a pair of roving eyes staring at her, from behind a tattered curtain. She had often noticed this shop, but had never cared to look inside. The curtain always religiously veiled the doorway and she had never stood long enough at the bus stand to watch anyone emerge out of the shadows of the room. She tried to catch a glimpse of the interiors, as the curtain slowly moved in the breeze.

Intrigued, she looked skyward. The name board, was a modest work of art. A huge red rose stood between two words, also splashed in red, against a dull white backdrop - "Red Rose." Scrawled in the subscript was "Deshi Daaru Bar." Suddenly a man darted out from the shadows. He was beaming at her, as he walked past the queue at the bus stand and disappeared into the mass of moving bodies on the road.

She smiled to herself as she got on to the 8:20am bus. There was always a new reason to smile in the city.