The man with the woman in a sari

We see a man 
waving at the couple who sits opposite to us,
as the train starts drifting from the platform.

The man’s hair has turned all white;
the woman still has some strands left.
She has a red round bindi stuck between her eyebrows,
a few red bangles stuck between two yellow bangles.
She rests her elbow on the window sill,
forgetting about her weakening body,
dreaming about meeting her daughter in the next 24 hours.

A few droplets streaming down the window glass, hang on the edge,
swinging and swaying with the rhythm of the train,
ready to fall any moment, bless the rain!

We sit silently,
Listening to Beady Eye’s ‘blue moon’, PJ’s ‘yellow ledbetter’, 
Radiohead’s ‘house of cards’, ‘no surprises’ one after another.
One after another, the songs creep into my left ear and his right ear,
while I muse, staring outside the window,
thinking about writing a new poem about this couple.
We shall reach their age years from now eventually.

The big rocks remain fixed beside the ponds outside.
The green and smoky weather feeds us all.
But the fresh foul smell of the city’s sewage still lingers inside the train.