yellow eyes gleaming, whiskers alert,
the stately cougar cat
makes a contrail through the dirt.
He crouches behind some bushes and watches his prey.
Then makes his way slowly
towards a young deer astray.
the herd stand scattered
munching the green grass
while the stately cougar cat
dances a deadly dance.
the deer sniffs the air
sensing a strange sort of chill
the gleaming cougar cat
is ready for the kill

Everything was going nicely. We were on our way to Capitol for the wedding. My nephew sat at the back with me looking dapper in a ‘kutti’ suit and bowtie. He was swaying to the music coming from the radio.
I, unhappy innocent, was holding hands with him and swaying along thinking that the little fellow was simply gorgeous. Then the music stopped. His father in front had come upon a flurry of vehicles caught in the throes of argument.
The cute, little fellow at the back suffered a setback. “What's the matta. Where’s the music”, he must have thought in his tiny head”. He abruptly turned around and landed me a facer. I registered shock and pain. He registered glee and struck again. I yelled out this time and my brother-in-law, suddenly awake to his progeny’s unspeakable acts of violence, turned around and asked him to shut up.
Looking slightly scornful this time he bit me. Luckily my fabulously expensive suit saved my skin so he bit again, this time he struck some flesh... and struck it well. I yelled and almost threw myself in front of a truck but luckily the jam unwound itself and we started moving. Locking my door again I turned apprehensively towards my assailant. He was gazing adoringly at the bike revving up beside us. Pointing at the window he smiled benignly and explained to me, “beek, ra ra beek”...

Sitting high atop a bus looking down at the dinky little cars and dinkier little autos going about their business, i gave myself leave to smirk. After three years of haggling, debating and stomping out of autos in a huff this was sweet indeed!
What broke my back these last few days was the new fare, notwithstanding which, auto meters that were earlier off track did nothing to remedy their faults and made off with enough to pay for a college education in Singapore while the locomotively challenged who rued the day (metaphorically speaking) they did not learn to drive, cried buckets and buckets of tears.
I did the only thing I could do in this situation. I chatted with Him. I complained that this was not a problem of my making, maybe a problem that underlined my inability but not a problem I had forseen. He responded subtilely as always. This time with an attitude change.
I had shied off buses for so long that they had assumed intimidating adversarial proportions. But now determination wiped clean the grime of tepidity and the next day I packed myself off (with the maid, it is true, I am a wimp) for my first bus voyage to Shivajinagar from Kammanahalli.
The maid was inclined to ‘sympathise’ with me. Taking my usual blank expression to indicate stupidity and guilessness she had grown somewhat protective. She listed the numbers of buses i could take. She jumped in front of a big blue bus easing out of a shelter and made the driver screech to a halt. She ushered me to a sunny seat and plonked down beside me. She pointed out that the bus journey would take a long time and that i would be crazy to make it a habit. She insisted that I would find it much easier to just hop on an auto instead and save time and energy.
Pretending to listen carefully I was awash in a warm sensation of glee. The bus was big and comfortable. There was no faulty meter to worry about. No nasty argument tremoring over the horizon. The bumps were few and much softened and hey! We were the boss. Make way shorty...
A big grin spread across my face which might have bothered the little old lady sitting across from me who reached for her purse and stared at me uncomfortably.
Retribution never felt so sweet.