The roads are lined with small stalls in shacks,
Weather worn tracks which rusty vehicles climb to the
Sleepy village where Grandma waits;
Drowsy in the humid heat,
Decked out in gold and family pride.
Stall holders greet you with an expectant smile.
Chattering as though they've known you for years.
All keen to sell you the lentils and fruit
They fed and watered with their own sweat and tears.
Sweets and treats are piled in high pyramids.
Inside display cabinets of confectioner's shops.
To be kept away from light fingered hands,
They are packed carefully for you in a garish pink box.
Further along the street and at every roadside
Another meagre shack full of pots and pans.
Wafting the fragrance of ginger and spices
Central to the community, the chai house stands.
The men are sipping from hot metal cups
In their tattered shirts and scant flip flops.
Discussing the matters concerning them now,
Not government issues but this season's crops.
High in the mountains the waterfalls flourish,
Greenery engulfs you, bombards from all around.
Isolated communities cut off from anything
Fill me with an emptiness, the absence of sound.
This is my India, sumptuous and exotic
A place where I realised what's most important in life.
A precious, unique gem like the emerald eye of Parvati
The essence of which is a life of harmony, not strife.
An aspect of my visage lies,
An aspect I try so hard to hide.
An aspect still seen by you so plain.
My sad eyes have returned once again.
As hard as I try I cannot change
This feeling, no longer one strange.
As hard as I tryI cannot conceal
This disjointed and incomplete way that I feel.
But we’re getting more unbearable, you and me,
You’re still trying to find my happiness’ key.
We’re getting there gradually, you and I,
Until I’ll no longer feel reason to cry.