Stranded

On the corner of two indifferent streets

Chewing grey bhindi in a hardened roti

From a polysterene plate

Dreading another loo

Fighting off hustlers and flies

The infestation of rickshaw-wallahs

In the rising heat and the rising

Dust of early traffic

A young woman hesitated

Reading my distress.

Had she worn jeans

They would have been frayed

But she didn't

– hair matted

Face gaunt and parched

– the long tunic and folds

held a cell phone and a music box

She said “Come”

Her aunt had rooms to nighter

And a western loo

She only asked to use my tap to wash

Kibashni, she said and she said

AISA from JNU back on home-turf

To bring back news of a “struggle”.

There were meetings, bombs and martyrs

She said – under my rickety lamp Her eyes sparkled at the mention of poems She played me a track of Indian Ocean

I need a drink I said

She returned with a Kingfisher for me

And a glass of something dodge for her

She slept wrapped in a sheet on the floor outside the entrance

She got up quietly and left

I followed her to the curtain

The sun was up

I saw an official van

She was taken.