A bundle of hawkers and hustlers,
The station is extremely busy today,
A colourful hustle at the platforms,
It has all the stirrings of a crazy day !
Birju dusts his tiny tea- stall,
Whistling washes the kettle's spout,
He wonders if he has enough milk,
As he gathers his gingers about.
His friend lajjo is a sassy lass,
She's fought all for her lucky spot,
She readies her mini samosas today
And turns the oil up a notch hot
And by the side of Lajjo and Birju,
Is the rickety wrought iron chair,
Uncle ji sits on it a little hunched,
Face a mix of hope and dispair.
Years and years ago a young boy,
Made his pretty lover wait in vain,
He broke the trust of his dear beloved,
And an escape on that evening train.
Years have passed , moons have gone,
Many trains have come, all have left.
The platform is loud bustle of colour
Which leaves his life more bereft.
Same expression on the same face,
Day on day, year after year.
Uncle ji sits around every day,
His eyes always hopeful, yet- bare.
But Lajjo fries a couple of samosas,
Birju sparks his kettle, boils the tea.
Wrapping their love in a paper plate,
They smilingly serve it to Uncle ji.
Piyu, 28.11.25
