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Trapped

Sitting in the auto
I wondered, are my jeans fitted enough.
Or should I lose an inch here, get more toned there?
Then I heard a whizzing sound.
A woman, ordinary enough, salwar-kameez clad.
Torso upwards she was slightly pudgy.
But it was her legs that made me instantly ashamed.
Shrunken limbs hers were, completely and utterly
wasted away.
She whirred by me in an electric wheelchair.
Looking neither right or left, but straight ahead.
Sitting in my auto, bound by my own and society's conventions
To look good, to stay young
I wondered
Is she really trapped, or am I?
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