She sat there, her knees knocking each other, her elbows resting yet not resting on them, her palms joint and her dimpled chin resting on top. Dark wisps of hairs swoop around her round face, going into her huge sea eyes, her pert nose, her wonky lips with a cut the size of a nut. Hurried people went past, so did the swishing trains, the beggars who sang, the tracks that rang; irrespective of her sitting there, moving. As the people hurrying, the trains swishing, the beggar's singing, the tracks ringing increased, the knees knocking decreased, gradually coming to an end. The train to her destination had arrived ready to depart.
Smita Singh
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