the goddess of plenty

today is attempt number two to discern the crowded mystery of the local bus system. the buses are pitiless and move with high velocity violence and the eternal sound of metal dents being made and remade; the timings and stops are known only to great scholars who spend years contemplating the (government-issued) texts. 

traffic was, as usual, in a horrific snarl and the dust and pollution burned my eyes. hence, i was beginning to get bored when, to my delight, a matron burst up the creaking steps propelled by the sweaty exertion of her children and grandchildren. She stood in the aisle for a second with her tree trunk limbs tapering to delicate hands holding provisions wrapped with care in plastic bags, surveying us lesser beings, smiling at a joke we missed, with her heaving breasts and stomach and buttocks cascading out of the pitifully inadequate bondage of the sari's thin material; she was carved like the fucking Buddha and as she took the empty seat to the left of me i imagined being crushed beneath one of those billowing cheeks while she laughed uproariously.