In a bus with a picture of shiva

I sit beside the emergency exit.

The picture is kitschy

(aren’t all Gods kitschy now?)

with colored fluorescent lights

framing the picture of the

ganja-smoker and his wife.

Late at night, not so,

past 9, arriving 10, on a Sunday

the ladies seats are empty

so I get the window to myself

A saint is a chief minister

while my laptop jumps

to the point of weightlessness

with the speed-breaker.

I’m thankful

That it runs on an EMMC

and not an HDD.

there is a fear eminent in air

of a coming riot

(riots daresay)

parvati, maybe durga, or whatever

woman sits with shiva

stares, peeking through

one of the shoulders

of the a passenger

How far is the destination?

Thana*?

…