Recruitment Drive '82

[FredFourth]

The hotel foyer in turmoil,
Nigerian women argue loudly about their taxi fare.
I wished I had been as brave with my Sikh driver
who had scammed me mercilessly.

Hijras smothered in kajal accost me,
I settle for one hundred rupees. Aravan, not
greedy.Oh! that the Sikh would become her devotee.
I spurned the offer of fellatio, glad they did
not show me their wounded holes.

It occurred to me later, that the guards
had not helped the Nigerian women.

Personnel fawned over me. How brave was I to
ignore the riots and change hotel, his head wagging.
When I spoke of the shootings, he changed the subject and said,
The Continental is so impersonal.
He meant expensive and crooked.

Passing the crossroad barrier, a Gurkha
officer pointed his baton, a soldier fired,
hitting one of the crowd. As they fled, he
turned to my Fiat pointing the way, we
sped off, crunching glass

Beckenbauer had raved, Shit country! He
had lain in a ditch for an hour, unfamiliar with India,
resenting the crowd that grabbed him. Luckily, he
was not a woman police constable. These things
happen in Britain’s former empire, life or death
hung on the edge, on the whim of a Gurkha officer.

How smart in his starched Khaki shorts
complement to his dark skin and black moustache.
His precise military movements that shed death
at the stoke of his cane.
Vishnu incarnate,
destroyer of worlds.

We left for Calcutta by Air India. Newspapers read:
'Hot irons applied Kali devotees.' Communists run amok!
Crowds had gathered to watch the castration of the
Kali monks. We did not go out much that week.

Newspapers report brides in cooking
oil fires, pay more dowry or your daughter...

A beggar woman offers her baby through the
taxi window for my blessings, She returns my
coin demanding a note.

A roadside cobbler repairs my sandal for a few
rupees content, refuses my note. He waves
me away with his blessing, a sweet gentle smile.

India's pealing temple bells, spice aromas its heavy
perfumed air, her warm humanity, the vivid
colours that jollied up our expat. lives caused
to surrender our cares as we roistered in the taxi
music speeding along river bank road where the
washing hung in coloured miles. Slowing for cows
that stepped daintily, that know no fear of man.

The image of Gurkha officer stays with me as does
a girl in a yellow cotton dress at home on a dung heap,
of me stepping over a beggar lying in the gutter
deadened to his plight as he to mine.

I did not lift up the untouchable who had crept
around my feet picking up crumbs.
What could I do, my guilt remains.

We left India pecking at seeds and nuts soaking up the
coolness from the air conditioning weighed down with our
company travel allowance carefully totted up and recorded.

The following day newspapers reported the latest spin:
'Raza Academy apologised, but explained that Muslims
could not have been responsible for the molestation of the
women constables as that would have been contrary to Islam.'

[Bernie01]

Fred---

powerdul and deeply felt travel movie...i was right there.


great job.

bernie

[FredFourth]

Well Thanks Bernie, nice to see you here. I thought Michael might like it for next moth, worth a shot. I worked a lot on this in the summer, I feel its ripe now.

[morkhenderson]

This is evocative and well written - thanks