Change Yourself…Change The World.


India: A Poem
January 26, 2009, 10:34 pm
Filed under: India

Note:

This is originally a ‘reaction piece’ I did while attending Global College’s CRC Program. This post was not originally associated with this blog, but I have put it up here around the estimated date written. I thought readers would find these informational, educational, and entertaining.

A summarization of this reaction: We were asked to write a poem, and so I wrote one about what India is to me.

We get into the cab. Beige car with a roomy trunk to stuff our Western packs. We huddle in together, and in my peripheral vision I see the towering jeep in front of us, stuffed to the brim with our luggage. The windows roll down automatically. Wow, luxury. The cab driver, another old graying man dressed in simple grey slacks and a dirty buttoned down shirt, steps on the gas pedal. And as we roll out of the station, it hits me again. I am in India. I am with the rickshaws, with limca, with two cigarettes for a rupee, with paan and betel nut spit stains on every sidewalk. I am with the beggar crippled men with no toes crawling towards me, with “Post no bills” signs glaring from the dusty blank walls of every building, with men staring at me from their motorcycles as if I was a window shop item on display. I am in India, with ragged children running up to the car with their dirty hands outstretched, with that spicy scent of sweat and humidity in the air that is lost every few seconds to burning garbage, with those gorgeously bright and beautiful saris flying against the backdrop of a dingy STD store. I am with the horns that blare at every direction, with the second’s swerve the car makes to avoid another bicycle, with crumbling buildings giving way to vendors spilled out all over the street. With every breath, every intake there is a different aroma in my nose, with every glance in a new direction there is a brand new sight to see, with every veer of the cab the sweat glistens on my forehead with the prayer that I won’t die in this crazy driver’s car, or that at least my bag won’t spill out on the street.

I am in India, with incredible annoyance that always turns into extraordinary patience, with the hope, the feeling that something better is just around the corner, with the immense chaos and differentiation felt at every turn, but with recognizing that in this diversity there is a unity, a beating heart, a rhythm, a perfectly and meticulously timed beautiful mess… this is India. And I am here.


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