The Buttermilk Vendor Poem by Ramesh Iyengar

The Buttermilk vendor
Untidy looks the man in the street,
dark shirt, cloudy dhoti, eclipsed face.
His bugle announcing 'amma' to all housewives.
A bronze vessel full of buttermilk,
too white, wonderful to look at.
Ten paise per glass, he pours
into every cup,
emptying his vessel by noon.
As Brahmin women take it inside,
the white buttermilk is all but water,
too glass like to see vessel's bottom.
Yet, day after day,
I fail not to listen to bugle sound,
piercing my ears.
 Ramesh Iyengar