A Mid Afternoon’s Dream

It was the middle of the day;
a warm, late May afternoon
The voices of spicy gossip
brewing fast and furiously in
the adjoining passenger seat
lazily wafted Anita’s way
She heard some fervent malice
as also some delectable accords
edged with expert ill intentions
She searched with her ears,
eyes shut, pretending to sleep;
but heard no good will calling
as far as her ears could go …
She sensed a station had come
and gone just as quickly,
when she heard a compulsive,
Phew-Phew, in a brand new voice
attacking her sensitive ears
Anita felt, rather than saw
her new travel companion,
fanning her thyroid enlarged neck,
with the edge of her saree
Undoubtedly, feeling no respite
from the sultry, pre-monsoon heat
she ceaselessly nudged
at her side of Anita’s ribs,
in a vain attempt to cool off
Anita gave up pretending then,
and blinked absently toward
the arch that led to her side
of the ladies’ compartment
Even with her eyes open,
she heard her first,
even before sensing her
loud and clear,
before she appeared at the archway;
the lady who sold dhoklas -
a yellow coloured velvety snack,
made from fermented chickpea dough
Then suddenly, almost magically,
Anita’s attacker stopped puffing
and traced the snack vendor
with an expression of,
what Anita could only image was
open-mouthed abashed ness
The hoarse voiced seller
sailed through the makeshift pathway
past several interested buyers,
that seated themselves edgily
upon faded brown, wooden benches.
Anita’s companion made a move;
Probably her ebony skinned hands
snaked into her purse
and eked out a five-rupee coin
that shone proudly on her plump hand
Without a single word,
and with a marginal shake of the head,
the deal was sealed,
and the lady resumed her attack
on Anita’s feeble sides,
as she devoured the snack with relish
Yet again, staring straight ahead,
Anita heard rather than saw
her lips smacking noisily
against one another,
running her tongue over them,
stopping to taste the salt
and biting down a little extra hard
upon the un-popped mustard seasoning
Then suddenly, without warning,
the chomping sounds were replaced
by a razor sharp whooshing sound and
the tone of the cubicle altered radically
There was pandemonium all over
and a variety of sounds filled the air;
scrapes, skirmishes, yells, squeals …
But Anita did not hear them,
for a change …
She felt the pristine caress
of the ice-cold rain
on her summer parched face
Eyes closed, she trailed off
to another world, far away,
where she was a beautiful princess
trapped in a tall, dark and distant fortress,
which had ivy clad stone walls
and where the shades on a rainy day
were grey and green;
a muted sort of multicoloured grey and
a freshly washed leaves’ shade of green
Anita opened her eyes vacantly
and some drops escaped far enough
to wash away her mid-day dream
She resisted the urge to rub away the drops,
craned her neck further upwards
towards the window,
enjoying the attack
Just as suddenly as it had started to rain,
the chilly onslaught on her face stopped;
someone had shut the window on her side
Naturally she could not see who;
she was too far gone with her reverie,
to even hear it happen.
When the stench of enclosed breathing,
furled up to her nostrils, it choked her
and her vacant eyes smarted painfully