A wooden cart, drawn by a bullock, along the busy streets of Bangalore- took over by throngs of techies, out on a hunt, after office hours.
A curt mannered matron, the driver sits chatting non stop in her distinct rural lingo, on her funky pink cell phone, about life in general, spiraling prices, scarcity of water, lack of rain and more.
Luscious grapes in bunches mostly violet, green and some black, heaped on the cart, people follow enticed by the garden fresh crop, she drives her cart, unfazed, her man now, has turned to her humble salesman behind the cart is his place, he plays the part ofΒ Β her second fiddle.
No urge to show who is in control, not him anyway, she is on top his silence says:"I understand"