DTC 440

Come, come, sit.
How sweet,
of course it's a Ladies' Seat
But come now, how often does a man
in a Delhi bus
give it up?

I don't care,
I'm not political
except in passing

(I wonder whether I should get to
sit when I pay the same
as the standing men).

So I sit down,
Eight thousand rupees' worth of music in my ears
and obscure novel in hand.

Hand, hand.
No, no, it's just his polythene bag
Come now, everyone's not out to eve-tease.

Hand, hand.
So it wasn't the polythene bag.
That was just a convenient cover
For a hand
reaching where it shouldn't.

Pussy?
Private parts?
Boobs?
Who makes these words?

I can't tell you where his hand went
My language has no word
that is not either funny or abusive.
Come, come,
check,
go, look in your dictionary
I bet your language also has none.

I got up,
vacated my Ladies' Seat,
my right as a lady
to be touched,
felt,
pawed,
come, come,
it's free for all.
Well almost.
Seven bucks from here to CP is pretty reasonable,
Don't you think?