Shewantee, Indian Marigold That steamy mid-August night in Mumbai, As I stepped out into the third floor Balcony of my hotel, sweaty Eros was Abroad. Trucks had dumped sacs of Marigold In the backyard next door and women who Came with the trucks lay on the bags, Like strewn petals. In deep exhausted coma. Men Walked round and round the pile, Touching their heels suggestively. The annoyed Women would kick, one suitor got it Full in the face. Others sniggered. In the whole transfixed half-hour One woman accompanied her Suitor to the warehouse, its door slightly Ajar. She came back a half-hour later, got Ribbing from her friends. Next morning, outside the Temple, I saw her fresh-scrubbed and devout, A bright red kumkum dot on her forehead Sitting demurely hawking a pile of Marigold flowers. Temple bells were ringing. Incense burned. A long line of devotees had formed at The temple door. They looked impatient, late for work. Xxxx
Posted on: Fri, 29 Nov 2013 04:10:41 +0000
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