Clicking an Old Haggard from Behind

Look at the picture. And close your eyes in shame. ( Sorry, the picture is missing.)
A stark naked body - naked to the hilt. Of an old woman. An old haggard to say the least and to address her gracefully. With no clothes on. No, no, she was not a stripper, neither was she a Super-model of notoriety. She had no clothes to go into any cover. And she had no intention to dis-cover the show of civilization, the civilization itself had dis-covered her and she herself was the show-piece of the razzmatazz of civilization which took away her clothes long before the stuntmanship of politics of civilization took the centrestage in all spheres of spatio-temporal evolution throughout the length and breadth of this cosmopolitan world.
How old was she?
From the distance of one-thousandth of a lightyear, it was palpably dark to the naked eyes. Naked eyes could not measure the years in space. Her lolling flesh hanged loosely on all her sides, her bare breasts flaccidly rested sidewise. And not caring a hoot for anything or anybody without any grand imposition of threadbare masculinity. Her eyes - more careful than any of her failing limbs - looked sterner than the grim reality that engulfed her. With her stern looks, she shooed away the flies that seemed to be feasting on her soiled wrinkled skins and perspiration of tears. Had they got the taste of her globules of blood? Anemic blood was supposed not to proffer any healthy and hearty meal for them.
She was sitting cross-legged in a dense bush infested with myriad kinds of herbs and shrubs. And under the canopy of scorching sun inconsolably. The river Damodar was flowing just a few yards away from her throne of thorns. Was she enjoying the balmy breeze that seemed to throw her into quagmire of her life and death? But that did not deter her a wee bit. She was munching green leaves like a nanny goat. And nanny goats were grazing to and fro encircling her in conspicuous jarring to her tranquil and serene feelings. But she could not help it. And neither could she boast of her graciousness against the pinching violence pushing her to the precipice of no-man's land.
I caught a glimpse of plain starkness of nature's wrath from the far corner of my eyes. My visions got blinded in a jiffy, my senses got benumbed in stupidity of reality. I got down from the ferrying boat and felt like escaping into the wilderness of my in-built shelter of civilization. Should I or should I not? This Hamletian paradox ultimately prodded me on to interact face to face with the fomenting anger. Hesitatingly I pulled out a packet of sweet cookies from my breast-pocket but she lovingly spat on it and pelted it like a missile bang on my civilised face. And I consumed the delight with gay abandon. Should I leave all the stones unturned and fold my dreams into a horror study?
She got up with a lazy gait like a straight liner. She walked a few steps forward and then turned her faceless gaze at me. And with a sudden burst of roaring laughter, she took to her heels bubbling a few monosyllables of swearing sound which deafened my ears for a while. She ran helter-skelter for reasons of her own.
Before I begot my senses, she was well up on the embankment where all sorts of people welcomed her with whatever way they could make a hell of her non-existence more and more vulnerable and with gesticulations that held no bar to stop and to feel with more bliss and peace. I stopped them with folded arms and urged them to save the grace of that hapless being forsaken by the God's world in ruthless display of sham humanity. Was she not created in God's own image? Oh, no, I didn't know that the God is never the God of small things.

For God's sake, don't blame me!
So far I had not shot at anybody's bum with a big hole. I was having an in-camera soul-searching with my conscience and asking myself whether it would be infra dig to take a pot shot at that haplessly humble guy who had nothing to hide her abominable existence and who had nothing to lose or win in this world imposed upon her without any rhyme or reason. I could fathom her, I could sense her breathless ennui in all its splendours but I was not ready to bear the burden of responsibility. Was I politically correct?
And up on the embankment, she repeatedly cast her limpid gaze at me. Grudgingly? Who knows? But I stood ground and did not bother to strip her more in my ocular senses. I closed my eyes as if for eternity in shame and despair. When the eternity turned the heat on me, I opened my eyes hearts out just to see that she was coming face to face with me as if to settle some scores with the world around her on naked terms. I again closed my eyes and tried to shoo her away. But she did not give a damn care to my authoritative style of fighting shy of her. And I ran away as far as possible from the vicinity of human vision.
Now she was all alone on the embankment, walking lazily forward to her unknown destination. Am I destined to absolve of my sin anyway? Am I destined to cast a slur on my own face? I thought within myself and I asked myself. Should I capture her naked and bland destiny as a brand record of this civilzation of One Dimensional Man? But who cares for this bloody thing? So many bloody things are happening in this world days in and days out.
And at long last I clicked her from behind.
She had nothing to show but her behind to this world!