Poem

India

you turn me around
you make me look in all directions
down corner streets
and thin back lanes

to feel the ground beneath my feet
as something beautiful
a bed for the homeless
a road for the rickshaws
a place to throw your crunched chai cup
and a canvas to spill colours

Oh India
the whir of sewing machines is in my ears
the slice of heavy shears on a wooden table
a baby cries
a child lays down
as the parents work late at the shop

you flash bangles in my face
you pour cold water on my head
you let me feel the heat and be thankful for the wind

you help me to see
people
children
men
on the roadside

the unwritten codes of the traffic
I fall back into the seat and let the
sway of the rickshaw’s weaving
lull me to a sleeplike state
only to be woken up again
at the sound of a
screeching horn and
a puff of pollution in my face.

Oh India
you take me to places I could have never gone
the inside steps of a staircase
winding up and around and onto the roof
to drink sweet coffee with a new-found friend
made by her mother in a pink sari

to pray for a family in a crowded canteen
to smile at a mother when her veil is lifted from her face
and she is smiling back
to offer clear water to a woman waiting
sitting cross-legged in the dust

You make my mouth burn and my lips turn red
You give me a healthy glow in my cheeks and speckle fine dirt on my skin
You give me the taste of licorice to remain with me
as I get up from a meal
and you let me discover cashews in my drink.

How did you know that cashews are my favorite?
Did someone tell you how my eyes light up when cardamom tea is served?
Or that plain yogurt is a simple joy in life,
and coupled with curry is enough to make an occasion to be remembered?
Could you have heard my heart beat faster as I walk down corridors brimming with cottons and silks?
Could you have known the beauty I see in
bright colours on dark skin,
the art of folding and draping and pinning and tucking,
the elegance created and the effort needed to transform many meters of a length of cloth into a functional dress?
How ingenious!

And what better fun could I have
in a country where it is acceptable and encouraged
to draw all over the palms of your hands
with the dyes made from crushed leaves and water,
or to discard the spoon
and find the hidden utensil
within the cooperation of my very own fingers...

Oh India
you are a refreshing wind
an irresistable rhythm that I cannot help but tap my foot to
shake my shoulders
bob my head

and to dance in unison with everyone else in the street

it is a delight to serve you, dear India
to have a light talk
or to encourage you to push during the height of a contraction
because the babies of today
are filled with hope
fathers are caring for their wives
children are wearing
the cloak of innocence,

Mother India is growing
is changing
is a strong stalk of a sunflower
that grows tall and deep

and I am here in that field,
beholding the beauty of strength and colour and
flocks
of shining saffron faces,

in midst of
the blazing heat and the hardship of life
India turns her face towards the
Son;
the One
to offer the gift of Life,
everlasting
ever shining
and lighting the way.