Bitter words

“I don't mean to sound bitter, cold, or cruel, but I am, so that's how it comes out.”

― Bill Hicks

I can never avoid her, everyday while I wait at the bus stop she screams obscenities at me and the rest of the world. She really isn't in pain or at least I can't see her wounds, yet she always liked to hurl curses at people passing by as she went about her daily chores, like chopping vegetables or cooking or cleaning. I could understand her misery to some extent, who would be happy living on the street, displaying the very private parts of their lives in front of total strangers, be it sun or rain, cooking, cleaning, sleeping, eating, excreting...having no other place to go.

I couldn't always sympathize with her, not always, no....especially when she would scream obscenities at everyone on the street but I could never ignore her...She is not really dressed in rags but her clothes are not especially clean nor bright, dulled by the heat, sun and cold, her face is as worn as her clothes. Often when I am not really in a hurry to catch the bus, I would wait and listen, try to make some sense of her tirade, who was she angry with? She blames women who were of dubious characters some times, other times men who are immoral faces her wrath and then police, political parties and everyone and everything...I have realized now that she has no specific grievance or particular persons to blame, she blames anyone who crosses her path...

Sometimes she forgets to curse when she is too busy cooking or cleaning her so-called house on the pavement in front of a post office. The strange thing is that I have rarely seen her family, whom does she cook so much for? It's true, on very rare occasions I have seen her talking quite normally or sharing a laugh with some other people on the road, were they her family? if so why don't I always see at least some of them with her, why is she alone most of the times?

I have often felt guilty thinking how I live in a proper house with a room of my own and she on a pavement by the bus-stop, with a tree for shade and the branches for hanging her dull clothes...often when it rains or is bitterly cold, I wonder about her...but I could never muster up the courage to face her, let alone speak to her, whenever she goes on her rant I avert my eyes, feeling a shame that isn't entirely my own....

I spent so much of my time thinking about her, feeling sorry for her, yet when she screams those bitter words I would invariably despise her, scorning at her madness and her filthy mouth spewing such obscenities....but I don't know her name and I have never met her, no matter how many times our paths have crossed, I don't know why she says those bitter words, I don't know her pain....