My handloom cotton saree
starched and pressed
swings in the breeze.
I walk to enter the queue
of business class passengers
at Heathrow.
An officer directs me to another line.
I fling my ticket. He declines.
Annoyed, I join issue.
The officer looks at me
with disdain.
His eyes give out his thoughts. Seem to say,
” Go, get lost, you and your cotton saree,
You appear naive and your dress portray
your status.”
I follow the line. Reconcile to the command.
Board the aircraft.
Occupy the seat in the business class.
Meenas Poems 