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The Memory of my First Bus Ride

An urban sensibility and a social concern find expression in an evocative poem by Dr Pragya, exclusively for Different Truths.

The memory of my first bus ride is intense
I told my mother about everything I had seen
about an old man who hurt his knee
while boarding the crowded bus
and no one showed him, love

about the pavement homes
made of bamboo, plastic, stones
and a lot of stuff is not good enough
to sustain the incessant rain

about two little boys of my age
selling drawing books and pens, pleading men
in big cars when the traffic light was red

about the men in the yellow helmet
who burn and toil and sweat
with face emotionless
behind the opaque screen that said,
‘work in progress’,
about how life is a mechanical process

They all were busy with their being
I noticed everything
But no one cared a damn

Today
after a decade
When I got off the bus
I wondered I didn’t see any of these
Was no one hurt?
Was everyone loved?
Was everything good enough?
Or even I didn’t give a damn.

Picture design by Anumita Roy, Different Truths

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