The woman in a saree and a bindi was sitting on the edge of the street

Walking through the city of Pune, I noticed rows of fences lined up between the roadway and the sidewalk. It was an unusual sight in an Indian city, oddly eye-catching, though most of the fences were worn out and hardly any stood straight. Tilted and twisted, they seemed almost unsure of their own purpose. Perhaps when new, they symbolized “order,” but now they remain on street corners as little more than weary fragments of the landscape.

Along one of those fences sat a stout woman dressed in a brightly colored sari. The yellow cloth, patterned with white and pink, stood out vividly against the dusty surroundings. A crimson bindi gleamed on her forehead, and a small nose stud caught the light. In India, a nose piercing is not only an ornament but also a traditional marker of culture, sometimes symbolizing marriage or family ties. She looked at me in silence, not as if to say anything in particular, but simply choosing to be there.

Pune has long been known as a city of learning, shaped by both Indian tradition and Western influence. Yet in that roadside figure lingered an older way of life. The woman likely cared nothing for the fence beside her; it was I who felt compelled to fold it into her company. A sari’s vivid color, a shining bindi, a modest nose stud—such fragments weave together the fabric of India’s everyday. It is a scene that would never be highlighted in a tourist brochure, yet it is precisely such moments that make walking through this country so compelling.