At every sunrise, the rickshaw-wala
mounts his tattered pedestal,
and slowly pedals away to another
fight to be lost
in the city. A crow cries
hoarsely – he doesn’t
look back.
The wife watches through
the thatched leaves, and murmurs
a prayer to the Elephant God.
She hopes the turban will stave off rain,
heatstrokes and evil spirits.
A child bawls inside –
she hurries to pacify its hunger with
stale rice and empty lies.
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