What a life?

I see her everyday,
With a smile on her wrinkled face,
I don’t know her much,
But she has a cute smile for everyone she sees,
A dull, old, torn, red sari that she wears,
And a little bag that she hangs on her hip is her only material asset.

I see her everyday,
Her face bright with turmeric,
A huge red round ‘bindhi’ on her forehead,
No jasmines to adorn her head,
But she makes sure there is a flower before her God,
So systematic she lives.

I see her everyday,
People never mind her presence,
An ordinary scavenger by profession,
Work, to clean the toilets everyday and keep it spic and span,
I have never seen her brood for it,
She sits on one corner of the rest room, waiting for people to order her.

I see her everyday,
Heartless people spit everywhere,
Which she cleans without regret and fretting,
That little place seems to be her heavenly abode,
I was surprised to see her eat and sleep there,
Wonder will any one of us do that.

I see her everyday,
Though an illiterate, she loves to browse newspapers,
With no pain or hurt feelings she does her job perfectly,
Yet if some complain, she rectifies immediately,
What perfection in her work
I really admire her.

I see her everyday,
Curious to know why she chose this profession, I asked,
Her reply haunts my mind still,
“I clean other’s dirt and filth for my child’s food,
So that one day she will not live like me but like you”.
A little drop of tear in the corner of her eyes.

We come across many people like her,
We the educated, professionals in concrete jungle have no time,
To even think, they are also humans,
What lives are we living?
Undoubtedly luxurious, stamping many people like her.

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