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.
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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.
