BOMBAY BUSES

                                                            LXIX (69)

B.E.S.T. - the company that runs the buses of Bombay

BEST drivers and conductors
Work together as a team,
Considering the daily hassles they face,
One cannot help but hold them in esteem.

Do the drivers go to a special school
To perfect their jerky, jolting drive,
To learn how to let the clutch in
So that passengers and engine just survive?

Are they taught how to hit the brakes,
And as our balance we regain,
To take the foot off abruptly
So that we all fall over once again?

Jabbing the accelerator constantly
Helps to keep us on our toes,
Hones the perfect sense of balance
That every  bussing Bombay-ite shows.

Their steering skills however are superb
Avoiding people, cycles, cows and cars.
In wide and busy main streets
And narrow, twisting back-street bazaars.

Conductors need a different set of skills,
They must be slim, with all-seeing eyes
To extract fares from pinioned passengers,
Very few dodge payment I|'d surmise.

It must take years of experience
To know just when to ring the bell
Before everyone has got on -
It's an art at which they all excel.

The sunniest of natures will be soured
If nothing but brickbats come their way
And they never ever receive
A small - and occasional bouquet.

This verse is not a criticism
Of the B.E.S.T. fraternity.
Without their many specialist skills
How much duller life in Bombay would be.

3rd November 1955

WAR GRAVES

                                                               LXVIII

Gravestones standing to attention
On parade for all eternity.
In lines of military order
Each one a separate tragedy.

Although many decades have passed
You sense the sorrow and grief.
Their adult life was stolen -
War is a terrible thief.

They were not just soldiers
They were husbands - fathers - sons.
Women prayed their men would be
Among the lucky ones.

How many strong and brave young men
Were cut down in their prime
What a futile waste of life -
War is the ultimate crime.

Brookwood cemetery, Surrey.

August 1988

LAKELAND LADIES

LXVII


 I love to walk in the country -
I'm going there next week
But that does not mean that I
Intend to be less chic.

My clothes are all designer made
And so are my shoes
Pure silk scarves and soft kid gloves
Are what I always choose.

I wear suede leather brogues
And pale cream trouser suits
Unlike those hearty females
Who sport heavy climbing boots.

They stride out ostentatiously
Heavily clad and shod -
I envied them when the path became
A marshy, swampy bog.

The walk was wet and muddy
I've ruined my linen slacks -
Perhaps there is something to be said
For climbing boots and macs.

July 1988

This does not refer to me -
but to an elegant lady I
saw on Catbells, near Keswick.

STOVE CIRCLES LXVI

In mankind's early days
When civilization was in sight
Our ancestors had a barbecue
Almost every night.

They dined on free-range mammoth
Or additive-free deer,
And on feast days they would cook
An ostrich or a rhea,

Women always moan about
Their cooking facilities -
Said Mrs. Neanderthal "I need
A stone built fireplace, please."

"I want a covered kitchen"
The Stone-age housewife said,
"It would be so much easier
To keep the whole tribe fed."

"I must have a proper chimney"
Saxon woman cries,
"To let out all the smoke and soot
That gets into my eyes."

"If I don't have an oven"
Middle ages housewife said,
"How do you expect me to
Produce our daily bread?"

Stoves improved quite slowly
And we had a while to wait
Until the advent of the Aga
And gleaming black-lead grate.

Gas and electric cookers came next -
Now everything is micro-waved
So women have to go to work
To use the time they've saved.

We enjoy all mod-cons now
So that's our idea of fun?
Cooking expensive free-range meat
Outside in the rain or sun.

If our ancestors are watching
From somewhere in the heavenly sky,
They must be amazed when they see us
And wonder why they bothered to try.


September 1991