KVRK Bhargav
Faithfully negotiating the narrow streets of Puttaparthi village on my scooter with five kilos of wheat I reached a small flour mill. There was a flight of three steps and the shop cum house was perched on top of it. As I dismounted the scooter helping the load of wheat on my shoulders, a lady perhaps in her late sixties made her way out of this small and dingy dwelling as if emerging out of a cave. Her feet were finding it difficult to carry the heavy load of her body. She was swaying like a pendulum while slowly making her way to the entrance. She studied deeply this unexpected customer with her plastic gaze. Her hair was a mixture of black and grey made into a small pony tail. There was a look of tiredness on her face.
