When the traffic gets worse,
My mom begins to curse,
Stuck on the Bangalore roads,
She feels the need to unload,
Unburden her frustration,
Her anger, irritation,
And so she honks and hurls abuses,
At whomsoever she chooses,
And so you dare not cross her path,
Or else, you’ll incur her wrath.
By other’s stupidity, my mom is pained,
But we are thoroughly entertained,
We watch my mom’s vocabulary rock,
Every single time her car’s blocked,
It’s not often we see adults,
Lose their cool and insult,
Other grownups they pass,
Call them an idiot or an ass,
When it’s not us, who take the blame,
We quite enjoy my mom’s cursing game.
So Sachin and I sit at the back,
As mom pursues her verbal attack.
It’s important to note, dear reader,
That my brother turns cheerleader,
He might as well have pink pom-poms,
He constantly encourages my mom,
And even offers to pitch in,
And help her while she’s bitchin,
He finds the whole scene quite fantastic,
I’ve never seen him so enthusiastic,
As when my mother’s stuck on the road,
For Sachin, swear words are the way to go.
As for me, I remain amused,
When too many vehicles get confused,
She reminds me of angry cartoons,
When her head pops like a balloon,
I give a snigger, and a snort,
Because my mom’s usually the calm sort,
I just thank my lucky stars,
That I’m not the driver of those other cars.
To all those, at work,
Who have never seen her go berserk,
You actually think she is calm,
And she can be, my mom,
It’s a trait I share with my mama,
We both tend to do drama,
But otherwise she’s cucumber cool,
Is chill, and follows the rules,
If you do not always agree with her,
If you beg to differ,
Challenge her in the office, or on the streets,
But never when she’s in the driver’s seat.
