I was over at Dust my Broom (surprise, surprise) where Shere Khan is leading a discussion about conscription. It’s an interesting post and recommended reading. However today, for once, I’m not going to be posting my take on what the DMB crew is pondering.

After posting my response to Shere Khan’s musings, I toddled off to the hospital to visit dad. During the day, the topic of India kept coming up in conversation and stood at the fore front of my mind. I’ve always said that I miss India and would do anything to return. I think it was there that I truely understood the values of friendship, compassion, dignity and respect.

Those who haven’t already done so can read my India travel journals to learn more about my experiences. However shallow they might seem in hindsight, they had a profound effect on me and the person I’ve grown to be in the last few years.

So this evening, I leave you with the scribblings of a sometimes poet…

September, 2003
I dream of India
Silk sarees and traffic jams
The stench of unwashed bodies
Rotting food
Wet air crawling over my feet

Painted blue signs on the sides of cemeteries
“Please do not pass urine here”
Men standing directly below them
Doing just that
Where is my camera when I need it?

Tent cities and crippled beggars
Pleading with the foreigner for the Rupees in her pockets
You know you’ve stayed too long when you stop looking in their eyes
It’s easier to walk away then
You lie to yourself daily to bury the guilt

Pujas and car Ganeshas
To help survive the auto-rickshaw
Driven over roads dug by hand
Surrounded by death and rabid animals
And life

Technorati Tags: India, travel journals

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