Kolkata's Bus Commuters

Two dozen perspiring commuters are wearily waiting for the bus,

Exasperated because of the delay and frustrated due to the rush.

The rickety contraption rumbles to a halt on the potholed bumpy road.

Like projectiles, passengers hurtle up, in a desperate hurry to board,

Or wriggle in like worms, for there isn’t a sliver of space on the bus.

To avail of the much-awaited moment of arrival, one can’t fret or fuss!

With people pressing from all sides, like a python’s constriction,

Blood pressure starts rising when there is the least bit of friction.

Inadvertently a man has now stepped on somebody’s dainty toes.

But it’s not the least or last of the unfortunate commuter’s woes.

Her starched uniform is sodden from the damp of someone's sweat.

Another had garlic for lunch; the odour is afloat through his breath.

“I’ve lost my false hair,” wails a distraught damsel in distress,

As a lady is alighting with the hair stuck to her velvety dress.

“Stop, it is my Stop!” shouts an irate passenger in an angry voice.

He misses his Stop for the conductor hasn’t heard him in the noise.

Trapped in the womb of the vehicle, he swears he will ne’er ever again

Trust a Kolkata bus--- though he might venture in a 'pilotless' plane!