Young ebony–skinned women In cheap synthetic sarees with Kajal overflowing the edges of pools of eyes And fragrant jasmines in their hair Came in droves to receive loan sanctions The cacophony of their shrill voices Drowned the dull monotone of the speeches The animator, a midget of a woman, Herded her flock of giggling women To a corner of the stage Woman after woman Came with folded hands To receive loan sanctions The leaders gave fiery speeches.
A banker–poet sitting on the dais Cleared his emotion-laden throat Nothing came out of his poetic throat ,however. The proud women, queens of Sheeba, Spoke eloquently, confidently Of economic empowerment And marginalization of the money-lender Self-help was a magic word Did the husbands batter them? Sometimes. But they refuse to be be touched For a fiver by liquor-guzzler husbands.
The poet-banker called it A successful micro-credit experiment The illiterate women found him Vague and amusing ,nevertheless. They were flushed with New-found money-power The village money-lender became a pariah Surely a revolution is in the making.
