The thin young fellow comes in fast with a bucket
Which he hangs on his back, with a rag in his hand
Ever silent, he does his scrubbing job with a frisk Salaaming with docility, every walker coming down.
In sixty flats with two hundred and odd residents
There are more than sixty cars in the compound
The security men at the gates are ex-army guys.
The car washers are three for the sixty odd cars
Ever silent each does his chores with alacrity Babus need the cars at eight a.m. or a little earlier.
The thin one is the first I see emerging from the lift
I never saw anyone giving the fellow a look.
The gatemen cut jokes with the maids coming in
Not all are young with any promising looks.
The car washers are far apart from one another
The maids don’t give them any even a little glance.
Car washers working far from one another talk noisily
When can they be equals socially?
The hungry eyes wait for a glance to flash!
