I Scream. 

“Dus ka teen,
Dus ka teen”, she called out.

All I could see,

Among her tattered clothes 

And scarce jewellery

And  desperation to be,

Was the mild menace 

She took the role of;

Disturbing more than the

Creaking Mumbai locals

A conversation between boss and me. 

The sun had set,
Painting the sky crimson red
Just as surely as my day was filled 

With strewn papers,

Discontent voices,

Oily canteen food, 

And a dull throb in the head. 

I made my way home

Clutching my ice cream 

As a single hope for respite

For I knew what was waiting at home;

The sick feeling of not being enough

And a fake-smiling wife. 


Then I saw her, again,

A lone figure in a forlorn corridor

With a dog for company,

The woman from the train 

Slumbering peaceful,

More than ever I could be.

My Rolex watch,
My cloying cologne,

My flashy smartphone,

My wafer ice cream cone

Never felt heavier.

I stood there gazing at her;
Wondering if I looked for 




In all the wrong places one could be.

-Kimaya Ingale.