I am on my bed lying flat staring at the white ceiling. The bus whoozes towards me on the empty street, almost hits me and whoozes past me in the dark empty streets beyond. A next bus comes does the same. A motorbike, a cab, a car and a truck and the number increases as i stare at the white ceiling. And all of them almost hit me to taper into nothingness.
A fire at one end and a fool at other. I was pretty hit by that sms i got from a fren. Cigarette and a :colon and that phrase. A short sms that was, but quite solid.
Household work is the main stay for many women even today. But why do we feel so unproductive when on a puja day all we do is make diyo lights or prepare flower garlands or mithais?
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