At 11, Everyday

There.

Right over there.

By that pillar

she will show up at 11.

There are ten minutes to go.

Maybe,

she comes out to sit after finishing her chores

or,

after watching some serial,

or perhaps, she is just punctual

to not miss

the passing sun,

that stops on her veranda for an hour.

She sits with a book,

or sometimes with peas

that she peels for lunch,

probably,

and remains engrossed in her work.

So beautiful she seems,

to notice nothing else

and 

remain unaware of the dozen eyes

that stare her from

down the street,

and up these balconies.

Those big eyelashes

that she constantly shutters

and sometimes lift,

I love the black that contrasts

on those big white eyes

and,

that big-dark

maroon bindi

that pulls all the attention

like the BOLD FONT

on MS-Word.

It aches my heart,

to see her discomfort,

tears rolling down her eyes

when she chops those cruel onions.

But, again...

I love-

the grace by which she wipes them off

with the back

of her wrist,

and gets back to work with

a deep breath.

It swells her chest,

and then she exhales

in a whistle-

circling those lips

in a perfect O.

And then half-an-hour later,

approximately,

she opens her pun

and frees her hair to

oil her scalp;

So

devilish she looks

with that black mascara, big bindi

and open hair.

Gently, with those fragile fingers

she tickles her head-

cautious to not dig her nails

in.

In little jerks and shakes,

she controls her hair

from falling on her face.

Then at last,

as she gets up

with her hands winding the pun

the drape falls off her shoulder

revealing the low-cut blouse,

and

her white breasts.

That is when the boys hiss,

from the balconies around

some clap to themselves in excitement

and others pause

whatever they're doing,

and 

NOTICE.

I have seen the joy

see takes in

putting the show,

day and day again.

Her eyes speak of mischief,

and gestures of teasing.

She prentends to be unaware,

but, I have seen her

days and many-a-days, 

spy the onlookers 

from the corner of her eyes.

Then,

Boldly she

puffs a curl of hair

that falls again-and-again

from behind the ear, gets up,

and marches back inside

in long strides

wobbling and tempting

the entire B-block.

Oh!

...and there she comes,
to put the show

in a yellow saree today.