The woman sat above the city. Unmoved.
She breathed an air of calm and tranquility that strangely made its way through the surroundings. In a way that was noticed, but not acted upon by the driver, and all the others bustling about. But it was felt.
She was the charm of the rickshaa, the one who was being driven, the portrait of her city. Her clothes radiated and blinded all the passersby, like a laser in their windshield. Her smooth, soft face was the movie amidst a swerving reality.
The driver peddled intensely.
Cars swerved and honked madly.
A group of cows relieved themselves in the middle of the street, and continued eating the pile of garbage when they were done.
The Indian stench perfumed the air.
Screams. And more screams. And even more screams.
Thousands of people crossing the street.
People walking. And arguing. And being.
But it was all a stilled landscape to the woman, who warmed the city with her untouchable smile.
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