THE FIERY RED LIGHT
I don't like those traffic signals on that roundabout. I don't
know if it has some deeply ingrained prejudice against me.
Because, as it sees me approaching, it flashes the fiery red
and I have to stop.
And then I see an old lady walking forward from the side of
the road who has been waiting for the red signal up till
now. She has wrinkles all over her face and hands. Her
silvery hair shines bright under the sun and her saree unlike
all the beggars in the city is clean. Her eyes are strikingly
nonchalant. And her face looks very sad: long, thin and
She walks slowly and reaches out to every single man and
woman in hurry. She stretches out her arm with a steel
bowl. Someone in the traffic takes out the wallet and drops
a coin in her bowl. She takes it to her forehead as a gesture