A filthy corner of a platform. An old woman lying in that corner. Tattered and soiled white sari. Dirty feet. Dirty hands. Flies buzzing around her. She’s lying still. People don’t bother to give a look. The train’s approaching. She doesn’t bother move. Hustle and bustle. She’s lying still. The train’s approached. People rush. She’s lying still. People rush to get in. They jump over her. Someone happens to kick her leg. He doesn’t bother to look back. She doesn’t bother to see who did it. People are moving. She’s lying still. The train whistles. The train leaves. Everything is still. She’s lying still.

 

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Another filthy corner of a platform. Wooden boxes stacked on the top of one another. She’s sitting on one. A dazed look in the dry eyes. Dry filthy hair. Dirty hands. Dirty feet. Clothes trying their best to hang on to her. Flies buzzing around her. She’s biting her nails. People come, pick up the boxes, and leave. She doesn’t move. People don’t even bother to move her. Don’t even bother to look at her. She doesn’t bother to look at them. A guy approaches her. She’s busy biting her nails. He stands in front of her. Gives a nasty look. Keeps standing there. Keeps looking at her. Top to bottom. The nasty look. She isn’t aware. She doesn’t bother to look. He goes away. She’s sitting still. Biting her nails.

 

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