THE SHORT STORY OF MADHO: CST, 26/11

By Sanjay Jha

Madho sat atop a clumsily-packed hold-all
Scratching his dandruff-infested hair
His little children did an acrobatic fall
As his pregnant wife gingerly counted the train fare

After nine smoldering years, almost his life entire
In the city of unending mirage-like dreams
He was now fleeing against the incendiary ire
Of the bespectacled politician’s angry harangue and intemperate screams

Going back to his ancestral barren plot , nearly famished
Escaping the vitriolic mob, feeling oh so fearful
Madho sat in a confused daze and quietly reminisced
Nostalgia made him feel overwhelmed, tearful

For seventeen hours, sometimes he circumvented congestion
Driving his black-yellow dilapidated cab
Often waiting patiently, with rising frustration
For a passenger, and an occasional extra tab

When he heard the staccato cracker-sound
It seemed like a sudden unplanned celebration
He turned; two cold-faced men with AK-47 machine guns he found
What followed was mindless death and tragic human destruction

He never really saw the hard metallic bullets tear
Into his already broken rib cage; as he gasped for breath, about to die
His toddler’s soft limbs were already limp, disheveled bloodied hair
Even in death’s last moment , he smiled, he was still part of Mumbai