Resignation

Tangled aromas of green freshness,
A little of the earth, un-parting companion,
Waft through the entrance along with their names
Shouted in the ears of the passers-by,
Who make their way among the varied colours
Displayed in every direction- chili reds, lily whites,
Algae greens, purples, dark and light.

I move to a shop in the corner
Country tomatoes, a sunset hue
Unlike the foreign ones with bloody manes,
They smell of my land,
Our farmers' toil,
And not of chemicals-sown soil.

My fingers pick and toss, pick and toss,
Choosing the best from the little mound
A kilogram takes 7 minutes
Of criticism and calculation,
Inspection and scrutiny
Despite the pointy glances
Of the owner from behind the make-shift
Counter.

An older man in shabby clothes
A wrinkled shirt and a white dhoti
Arrives with a bag, nods at the seller
And at the tomatoes.
The other man's deft hands
Picks them up- shoves them inside
His bag
Good and the rotten,
Travel together in harmony.
No bias, no thought.

The tomatoes go untouched
By his hands.
Was his wife waiting at home
Ready to reprimand him
For his 'un-picks'?
Or is it only him
Weary of the day,
Weary of life- its freshness,
And simply resigned to resignation?