Sand, not yet scorched reaching up ankles and in between toes
Two cousins, one GIS expert, one foreigner
Pushkar pilgrims
400 temples all around
The lake eargerly awaiting the monsoon
Ice cold lassis from clay cups
Deep pink rose petals
My offering
The prayer inside us all
My wish, captured and recycled by entreprenuial holy men
Agressively willing to cleanse your karma
At a very reasonable rate
Rinse your hands in sacred ghats
No thought of disease
Old breasts bathing bare
Wrinkling women wringing ghargras dry
Jootis, dripping with sequins, now in my possession
Sharing holy sweets while Brahma looks on
Bare feet running across hot marble, shrine worshipping
Just one more lassi for the the road
Buses overtaking on blind bends through snake mountain
Lovers huddled in corners overlooking Ana Sajar in ancient Ajmer
Invalids, Muslims, Hindus pushing towards Durgha
No shoes, black feet seeking dung free islands
Heads covered
All hoping for their requests heard
Herded round the Sufi's tomb
Blessed under the cover of a blanket
Throw flowers at the saint, money in the well
Throbbing families close in, new borns longing for a glimpse
A business card from our Khadim
Please come again
A third holy string gradually enveloping my right wrist
Home time, dehyrdration sets in, dusk falls
Kissanghar caturie, not to be missed
Sweet chutney dripping down the sides
Greeted by calls of 'what did you buy?' 'can we see the photos?'
Beautiful blending of style and reverent substance really creates a surreal, desert-like sense of place. Whether or not that was your goal for the reader, exquisitely done!
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