An Ode to a Woman

An Ode to a Woman

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Posted by Bhooma Chutani on Tuesday April 10, @02:17PM

This is the story of a woman I saw at Abu station while I was travelling from Ahmedabad to Delhi.

The station was relatively busy at that time of the night, with vendors selling �rabri� and bread omelet. I noticed her first standing at the water tap, filling a glass. She was very obviously poor. She was wearing an old, dark sari wrapped tightly around her, hugging her lissome figure. Her hair was grizzled, brown and dirty. The hair of someone who hadn�t bathed for years. I presume she had body odour, though I couldn�t tell from the distance. I could not place her age - I like to believe she was 23. Though she could have been anywhere between 20 and 50.

As I watched, she lazily sauntered over to the other end with her filled glass, placed herself between two coaches of a stationery train and proceeded to crap. And she used her sari to cover herself as best as she could. I was totally dumbfounded by the audacity of the woman who relieved herself in the middle of a bustling platform. And I watched, hoping no one would notice her and raise a row. And for some reason no one did. Perhaps they were as fascinated by her as I was.

What attracted my attention to her was the way she walked � strong, confident and bindaas. It was as if she didn�t walk but glided. She walked the walk of someone who has seen the world, found one�s place in it and was content to just be. She belonged. She owned that platform and that world. She was ruling it, and had for the time being decide to take a break. To not let life interfere with her existence and her bodily needs.

After she had washed her hands she sauntered over to her small, dirty bag that was lying unattended on the platform and fished out something to eat. I couldn�t make out from the distance what it was. And then I watched two men stop and stare at her. But she continued to eat unabashed, as if she didn�t know they existed. Or perhaps she was just pretending to not notice them, while secretly reveling in the attention she was receiving. Like a performer on stage, building illusions for your amusement. Someone who had been paid to make that half hour stop unforgettable.

I remember wondering if those men had stopped to assess whether they could bed her. After all she was rather attractive. And then immediately I felt ashamed for always assuming the worst about others. Maybe they were also enchanted by her act � just an enthralled audience like I was.

The woman�s mannerisms were like someone who was extremely rich and powerful and was playing poor just to amuse herself. I could imagine her as the extremely successful head of a conglomerate, who had spent her life knowing she was more able and more intelligent than anyone in her empire. At a cocktail party, with a cigarette in her hand (I don�t know why but the cigarette just belongs), bored with the conversation and then suddenly deciding to crap in front of everyone just to shock them. Actually that�s not true. She doesn�t feel the need to shock anyone or attract attention. She crapped because she simply had to and could not be bothered by social proprieties and the existence of others. She was her own person. Strong, beautiful and confident. The kind of woman many men I know would fall in love with. I know I did.