Outside, the bearded monkeys frolic, stooping, by the dozen,
and fix their eyes on me like I’m some half-remembered cousin.
Bullocks scratch their heads with their hind hooves and scrawl their musings
on air with tail-end swooshings. Indian train.
Clad in ethnic stripes, I clutch an elephant who juggles
and some species of violin whose fingerboard befuddles.
The brown-faced boy with t-shirt, jeans and baseball cap for shelter
behind me, doesn’t swelter. Indian train.
Out on the street, the vendors proffer tiger balm.
Up and down the train, they cry “chai garam!”,
a mantra making everything feel halcyon.
I wonder if the chai is rich in calcium.
All the men dress Western. They stand out on the street
and urinate up bushes, walls, and sometimes on their feet,
so publicly that I can see from here which god they follow.
They spit instead of swallow. Indian train.
On the floor a lake surrounds the hole through which I glimpse
excrement on railway tracks. I creep, like one who limps,
over the facilities, aware that no-one vets them,
then adding to the jetsam. Indian train.
Out on the street, the vendors proffer tiger balm.
Up and down the train, they cry “chai garam!”
But the sun is so garam it borders on infernal
and I sit sweating like a viceroy’s favourite colonel.
Lying with a paperback, I can’t avoid the cluster
of children’s eyeballs locked on me. A wispy-bearded youngster
is begging me to come back to his parents’ house for dinner
as though I’m Ali Jinnah. Indian train.
“Come, sing to us!” they chime, so sing is what I try to do,
the Sex Pistols, the Beatles, Cockney songs from World War Two,
and, puzzling all of us, a Sanskrit rock song I admire,
that goes “Govinda Jaya!” Indian train.
Out on the street, the vendors proffer tiger balm.
Up and down the train, they cry “chai garam!”,
but by now I can’t stop thinking of the Occident,
not for all the chai on the subcontinent.
Comments
shoebox | January 12, 2009 - 23:25
I think this is excellent. Evokes images of the old empire days, perhaps. Images of the ex-pat. A fish out of water, also? Much talent went into this poem. Cheers
chuck | January 12, 2009 - 23:55
Very good macjoyce. Kipling updated.
tamara (not verified) | January 13, 2009 - 00:37
You have a fantastic way with words!so vibrant and deliciously detailed!
Macjoyce | January 13, 2009 - 00:50
Thanks for your comments, chaps and chapess, much appreciated. This is actually the first new poem I've written for about six months. I wrote hardly anything at all in 2008, felt I was winding down. Now I'm starting up again, though this poem is about a trip I took a year and a half ago.
I couldn't help but feel like a member of the British Raj when I was India, even though I despise imperialism. I kept feeling as though I had a huge bushy moustache and was singing a song about hunting tigers.
We all know how beastly tigers are
Out in, out in, out in India.
They bite, they scratch, they make an awful fuss,
It's no use stroking them and saying "puss, puss, puss"...
Actually, I wish I'd sung that song to those children. But I didn't think of it at the time. Too busy going "Govinda Jaya Jaya, Gopala Jaya Jaya, Radhara Mana Hari, Govinda Jaya Jaya".
India was a big culture shock for me, yes, not least because of the toilets. I wonder what sort of toilets the British imperialists would have shat into?...
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chuck | January 13, 2009 - 04:05
It's a funny thing about the Empire. I don't like it either but I can't help feeling if I'd been born 150 years ago I might have gone to India to seek my fortune or just for the adventure. That Rudyard Kipling and Henty stuff had a powerful appeal.
Macjoyce | January 13, 2009 - 11:44
Well, India truly was the jewel in the crown of the Empire. It was the biggest and richest culture the imperialists came into contact with. Such a shame they largely forced their own culture onto it and didn't take much back in return. We British have more in common with Hindus than Christians. If we go back far enough, that is.
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tcook | January 13, 2009 - 15:34
I think, comparitively, and accepting that imperialism and colonisation are vile forces, the British didn't do too bad a job in India. I lived there for a couple of years in the 70s and found many Indians who acknowledged the good done by the British - whilst also accepting the bad. The trains, the system of government, the infrastructure for commerce were all put in place by the British - and, by and large, the rule was relatively kindly and paternalistic. Don't get me wrong - I'm not being an apologist for imperialism - but I think you can tip your hat occasionally to the good that came about.
Macjoyce | February 20, 2009 - 22:10
nibbles...
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