A haiku diary of a tour through Uttar Pradesh by bus, boat, plane and rickshaw in the winter of 1992.
The plane stops at Abu Dhabi.
White faces recede;
The Fast floods in.
Against a high-rise backdrop,
Two vultures on a pig's back.
Third World.
The fawning rickshaw wallah's
Smile
Frames my guilt.
A black bull
With a white egret on his back;
Time out of mind.
Muzzafarnagar -
Dust and Chaos
No, not chaos.
Everybody
Is up to something.
In an old brick field
With sacred cows;
Midday shade.
The shiny black lingam
Thrusts in the smooth white yoni.
Bang the bell; say a prayer; drop the small change.
Powered by a Harley Davidson,
Our eight-a-side rickshaw
Thunders across the busy intersection.
May all beings by happy!
Vultures in a thorn tree
At sunset;
Heavy black rags.
Opposite the 'Encyclopedia of Hinduism' bookshop
Shiva dances.
Old starved dog,
Death in his eyes;
Helplessness - him and me.
At dawn
The clapped out diesels moan in their sheds;
An ancient country, pushed beyond endurance.
Legless beggars
Race like crabs
Towards the tourist bus.
Down at the railway station
Beggars sit around tiny fires;
Autumn rains.
The sunset floods Mother Gang a
As my feet sink
In the soft, warm mud.
Basking crocodiles;
Just the tips of their snouts above the water.
What are they thinking?
On a huge mudbank
A solitary watcher
Lights a cigarette.
Beside a sandbank
Three old boats
Sunk in twilight water.
The unturned eye,
The imploring band;
Day after day.
The Taj Mahal
Leaps
With delight.
At the police station
A solitary monkey
Surveys the world.
Buffaloes out on the sandbank,
Pandemonium on the girder bridge.
The tourists photograph the holy man
To show to their friends.
The holy man smiles.
Pulled on an oxcart
A rusty generator
Lights up the wedding march.
Surrounded by suitcases,
A bundle of rags
A matchstick arm,
A tiny wizened face.
Oblivious of greed,
Baboons rush the banana stall.
Feeling deep compassion for India:
But my rickshaw wallah
Just keeps on pedalling.
My broken camera
Leaves me with only memories
And haiku!
