The lights change. For the next three and a half minutes, she would walk up to every car, knock on the spotless glass windows and try earning some money through a gesture that she has perfected – her right hand moving from a little above her navel to her mouth mimicking the action of eating. Most people behind those spotless glass windows ignore her. There are others who leach at her from behind those spotless glass windows. A few would even roll down their spotless glass window, whisper something obscene before they hand her a 10 rupee note. The easiest ones to live with were those who gave money out of peer pressure or because of a religious reason – they usually roll down the spotless glass window, hand over a few coins and quickly roll the spotless glass window up – making sure they do not touch her in the process. She never spoke a word and for most part looked down except when she received money.
The lights change again. In the next six and a half minutes, she counts the money earned, removes half of it and pushes it down her blouse. Sometimes she whispers an abuse or two for the people behind those spotless glass windows. She then walks up to the Traffic Police, standing in the middle of the junction, hands over the other half as if that is all she has. He counts it and gives back half of it to her, sometimes with a few passing references to her anatomy. A couple of times they were loud enough to be heard beyond those spotless glass windows but never ever had anyone seem to care.
She comes back to where the story began just before the lights change again – to another set of spotless glass windows, to another rerun of her ten-minute story.