Day passes and night creeps up over the city,
Suddenly the TV chatters “taxi drivers targeted in Mumbai”
Repeated clips, slapping and punching of khaki
or white clad men in some suburbs.
Stones hurled at wind screens then,
Shattering glass and fragile hopes of men,
adding to debts while they grind out a living.
Photo/videographers, trotting behind thugs
to catch atrocious action on film.
How did the news hounds know that this grim
Attack would happen? Did the thugs call?
“Come on, we’ll give you all
Some live news while we have a ball”.

Post-mortems and conjecture:
A leader’s words primed those goons,
Instant reaction, their loyalty on show
In the only way they know
Picking non-maharashtrians on the street
Drivers of Mumbai’s ubiquitous taxi fleet
Transporters helping to move the metro
Yellow-black, on wheels that go
Criss-crossing endlessly, fast or slow,
Whether packed day or empty night streets.
Destinations are all that matter,
Not who drives the taxi.

But a case is made when the leader orates at “Big B”
Another defends the film star, demands derecognizing
The rampaging political party.
Newspapers and channels joyfully shriek:
Unconstitutional, Mumbai is also India,
Maharashtrians threatened in other states.
Meanwhile, the man who started it off
Attends a reception thrown by a Police chief.

What a fake can of worms to open!
Who will speak for the taxi men
Or fix their windscreens again?
They have to carry on alone,
Ignore swelling bruise and aching bone,
Can’t afford the time to speak
Rolling along, slow time or peak,
Serving a city that may spew some hate
But simultaneously fills their plate.