XXVII B
Whenever I hear a woman say
She cannot live without
A fully fitted kitchen
I always think about ...
A woman that I once saw
In an Indian street
Who cooked while ragged children
Played around her feet.
No micro-wave for her -
Just a pile of smouldering sticks
And instead of a ceramic hob,
A line of standing bricks.
A paving slab of basalt
Was her chopping board
In rusty tins and bottles
Her few groceries were stored.
She's grateful for a shared cold tap
For beyond her wildest dreams
Is a sink with running water
And a kitchen neat and clean.
There's a mouthwatering smell of spices
As hot hoil sizzles and spits,
I'm sure it tastes as good as anything
Served at the Hilton or Ritz.
17.2.1992
Near D.N.Road, Bombay
