Delhiwale: Culling poetry out of commutes

Intro: A citizen writes a poem
She gets up every morning at four. She goes to sleep every night by 10. Her waking hours are crammed with action. She makes breakfast for the family. She makes their dinner too. She also has a office job, which means her mornings and evenings are consumed in long bus commutes between her home in Vikaspuri and her office in Sanjay Gandhi Transport Nagar. Plus, these days she is battling Delhi’s horrible pollution, which has worsened her “allergic rhinitis problem” (she keeps prescribed pills in her handbag for emergencies). Even so, she has a firm faith in “our Guru Nanak’s chardi kala optimism, which is to be happy at all times, come what may.” Maybe that’s why she recently took out time from her super-hectic life to write a poem, which was inspired by scenes she observed during her everyday commute. Customer care manager in a commercial vehicles dealership, poet Jasbir Chatterjee agreed to share her fresh verses with us.
Big city loneliness
Gingerly I walked,
Knees aching,
Towards the dimly lit staircase,
Watching out for the potholes…
Border, border, border, border,
An autowalla was shouting.
DTC buses kept halting, moving
And people kept moving
Like ants.
My gaze fell
On a uniformed man,
Seated under a street-light pole,
Tears dropping from his eyes,
As he stroked a stray dog.
Something made me stop.
He placed some biscuits on the ground.
The dog accepted those graciously.
Slowly, began munching.
Bus no. 165 came.
The man got up.
Tears still glistened in his eyes.
Unmoved, the autowallah went on.
Border, border, border, border
And I moved on.
But the memory of that tearful man
Baring his love-laden heart
Still haunts me.
Next evening, I was at the same spot,
At around the same time.
Another man sat on the bench.
One hand holding the mobile phone,
He talked and laughed.
A different stray dog
Hovered around him.
Border, border, border, border
The autowalla kept shouting.
Wryly, I tell myself,
Life goes on, so must we.
All these joys and sorrows
Are but kaleidoscopic illusions.
The truth is
We are all tiny specks of dust,
Trapped in a huge universe,
Holding on to life on a lonely planet.
PS: The photo is of citizen Abhay Kumar who feeds stray dogs every night in his central Delhi locality.