hkreuzman May 25th, 2008
The cities are richly textured. I love the eclectic mix of sights, smells, and sounds – spices and pots for sale in a traditional market next to high end retail, auto rickshaws in front of a pathology lab, cows wandering the streets, the sounds of horns in Delhi at night.
sfindley May 21st, 2008
Shards of glass atop the brick boundary–the British are coming, the British have come–do they keep them out or keep them in//a mother breast feeds her child sitting on the side of the overcrowded, dusty highway//eyes stare at us//colors of the rainbow expand beyond measure in the flow of fabric from woman to woman//the pungent smell of tantalizing and vulgar scents–sandalwood, jasmine, lavender, curry//the urine runs on//monkeys, dogs, pigs, horses//Holy COW//there’s nothing romantic here, but the sublime and grotesque dance an unending dance//the tears run down//squatters takes on on a whole new meaning here//”Halo, halo,” they yell out. “Rupe?” “Chocolat?”//Mmmm, the taste of Masala tea sweet on the lips and tongue//How I long for the familiar and yearn for the next adventure//”Life is a journey. Complete it.”//Eyes still stare; hers with a smile, his not so much//Rickshaw, motorbike, buses overflowing with people pouring out of every crevice//cover your hair so you don’t draw attention//Ahhh, the taste of foreign fruit and naan in the morning//the threat of Delhi belly//I try not to stare back//there’s a war going on here–survival of the fittest–the highest caste, the privilege of education, east and west, male and female, Pepsi and Coke//the familiar is made strange//time stands still with a Kingfisher beer//how can one feel so sad and joyful at the same time//Mother India–a contradiction.