Thinking back to India

poem

1-12-2017

Strolling through the city streets of
India would always rattle my nerves.
Swarms of people – fat businessmen in suits,
emaciated beggars bent over in rags, bubbly
children, wide-eyed teenagers and women
draped in the most beautifully-tailored, bright
silks that defy all the smog and dust -
push past each other seemingly oblivious to
the stench of urine and burning petrol
and all the garbage underfoot. I’m the only
one that jumps each time a rickety taxi or
motorbike skids past me blasting its horn.
The men always smile and laugh to catch
my nerve-wracked reaction. This used to
infuriate me, but now I see the humor.
After all, if I dare to roam into India alone
without all the insulating tour groups and A/C
buses I must accept the whole reality. Somehow
the people here do… but I’m not sure I ever
could. But perhaps it’s not too different than all
those city slickers in America who conform to the
daily chaos of NYC or DC or LA – or Hong Kong.