“I am not sure if I will ever meet you again”, I said
“So, take care. What is your name?”
‘Bhawna’, she said, trying to gulp down the tears
Playing pendulum along the edge of her eyelashes, soaked in grief and fear.
On a normal Tuesday to work, I saw her in a red saree,
Sitting opposite to my window seat,
With desperate eyes looking for a solution amidst passing trains, trees and trash,
Unable to carry the weight of her in laws’ bash.
I placed my right hand and patted her left knee,
Because, to make her feel any better, my words felt too weak.
“My mother in law thinks I should quit work and help her with the household
I have been married to my husband for two years now
And he still is happily unaware of my dream
My mother is gullible and cannot think beyond society
Even after my in laws did not let me stay with her
For a day more after I finished my father’s last rites.”
“Things will be okay”, I could not say
These felt as meaningless as picking up a corpse
From under the broken pillars of an old building
Which collapsed after an 8 Richter earthquake hit.
So I nodded, and empathetically looked into her eyes,
And witnessed my super power, empathy,
Crumble into tears, aghast at the inhumanity,
Scampering in and around fake houses
Built out of cards which can never spell love.
“If this continues for some more time,
I will leave everything behind and start afresh”, she sobbed.
No wonder Bhawna runs a beauty parlour,
She knows exactly when to pluck the string off.
Empathy wronged me this time, but superpowers give meaning and hope
So I let my pen act sword, to create poetry out of her,
And spread the word, of feminism, valour and blood