It was one of those rainy days...
the dark clouds had brought an early night,
the lazy street lights let out a faded glare,
while a few motor rides made their home in a hurry.
Streets had been washed clean,
Maybe the people too.
A few but still lingered on the street.
A father,mother, their two boys - a family i should say.
And so it was chillness of the rain and the father lit that country smoke.
Hunched he sat, billowing smoke through his nostrils and mouth.
The man seemed so lost in thought, engrossed in world of worry.
I would never have noticed her again,
Had she not called for the boys- soaked in that evening rain.
The dark walls near the sidewalks,she seemed to be a part of it too...
Her red faded sari with borders which once could have been called golden,
now spoke just of a life jaded in sorrow.
With some brutal strength she squeezed the water off the pallu
she whispered a word or two as the boys giggled
While she wiped their heads.
I walked on, thinking of joy and of sorrow and of the evening rain.
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