When the morning rain
Caught up
With them finally,
The bare-headed bikers,
In leather jackets,
Riding sleek bikes,
On the uneven basalt,
They stopped suddenly,
The wet two,
Under the tall tree,
Standing solitary
Along the street;
The two bikers,
Who hardly noticed it,
Earlier,
Now
Using it as a defense,
The spreading tree,
With green leaves,
As an umbrella,
Unfurled in the sky,
Stretched out taut,
Saving them,
The fat bikers and,
Their branded clothes,
Shoes,
Spectacles,
Cell phones,
Against the
Battering
Mumbai rain;
Sharing the close
Natural space
With a thin maid,
Coughing and shivering,
Wearing plastic bag,
On her curly dark head,
Praying and
Waiting for rain to
Subside
So that she can
Go to work.
