One day we saw a young woman,
in her torn salwar and kameez,
in dishevelled hair,
her face bruised and lips bleeding
entering a police station
crying she was.
Half an hour gone.
We saw her returning to the crowded city street,
her expression stony,
Pause.
Like a mid-air explosion
a sudden impulse,
in a fit of rage and frustration,
she stripped herself off-
her salwar, kameez and shawl
in her bra and *******
talking loudly to herself,
gesturing wildly
frightening sight it was
her entire body too bleeding,
down the roads she walked
swiftly to nowhere,
a visual feast to the passers by,
and commuters,
all in good humour.
Media men with their cameras followed her-
in a hurry to capture the sight,
without even leaving the minutest details,
the channels flashed the entire sight repeatedly,
the plight of an Indian woman,
the sight an eloquent one
her cries like cries in the wilderness.