Where Ghandi and Granny were born

Ghandi's Exact Birthplace

My lovely friend Sangeeta has never been to India and so, ever up for a project, I promised to snap some photos of her Granny’s village for her.  That is how I wound up with my head tipped back, in the pitch black, pondering space and time as part of a circle of women within a circle of men.

Navigating Marriage

Porbandar is ordinary, but what it lacks in beauty, it makes up for with gusto. Loud men with big grins sell fruit to busy ladies in bright bandhani¹ on the corners of streets with thick banks of parked bikes through which an auto river flows. Their incessant beeps perforate the dusty, dried fish mist which settles in the side streets casting a sepia tinge over its suitably antiquated scenes. On the border of town, thick mangroves and dessert meet by the river and just like in between the beach and the maidan², the poor live in temporary tents.

As I have now come to expect from Gujarat, the people of Porbandar excelled themselves.  My hotel was brightly staffed, my auto driver didn’t over-charge and on seeing my disappointment that the internet café was closed until 5pm, Jay from Jalaram Tours kindly invited me to use his wifi and even sent one of his staff to arrange my mobile top-up! (thanks again!).

The Lonely Planet may have dropped their coverage of Porbandar after edition 13 but it’s firmly on my map …particularly as the place whose sightseeing tour included twenty minutes in a segregated planetarium with Gujarati discourse!!

¹Intricate tye dye fabrics made with numerous tiny knots in fabulous patterns

²large outdoor area for public gatherings

Forecast 41

Watching you hide yourself

so conspicuously

melts the mind of the body you browned

which surrenders

for tomorrow there will be no breeze between us



See sideways

low-tied

bow-tide

Opened oar

Seaey Gulls

Big beachbulls

Crickets Bats

Appier beside

Alight house

See sideways

A tear from nowhere

After the break.

Beyond the rest.

Behind the smiles.

The space appeared.

Some unwanted void,

that knawed its boundless

vacuum cage

of music we watched

together

with hands held tight

on plastic chairs

in a tent in August.

Intent.

In turmoil.

Point 11 Revisited

Ravi sells diamonds
Raj mobile phones
The other one’s drunk and nobody moans

Prasad wraps up paan

Aman catches fish
The other one’s drunk but that was his wish

Pedro vends cashew
Hassan milks his herd
The other one’s drunk his wife won’t get word

Aman eats the fish
Raj makes a call
The other one’s drunk then pays for them all

Pedro dreams diamonds
Ravi chews paan
The other one’s drunk but everyone’s calm

Prasad sips on milk
Hassan knocks back nuts
The other one’s drunk and throws up his guts

Missing Spring

You tell me that the skies are clear,

and skin is out in summer gear.

I read about the NHS

and that “they” ask if free is best?

I hear the sun was super warm,

and barbeques sizzled on the lawn.

You talk of petrol forecourt wars-

that others had …but you got yours.

I learn of jobs both lost and found

your careers shaped to earn that pound.

You say today it strangely snowed,

…at least you’d had the garden mowed.

You speak of people ill or gone

of space they’ve left …or might.

I’ll pray for your fortune

and feel for your ills

I’ll laugh at your weather

and smile at your spills

I’ll ponder your stories

And gasp at your thrills

But I break when you mention

those spring daffodils!!

Easter Lunch

The kids are off school today so as we’re in a Catholic place, I asked Josephine my host if they were off for Easter.  She shrugged, fluttering the ruffles of her red Latino red dress, “No, off school for some Hindu thing, I donno, but it is Easter, this food is for Easter and there’s mass at six fifteen…”, she looked hopeful as if I might say “great I’ll come along” but it’s not my thing and my bland nod of a response probably said enough.

It was hot in the kitchen but Diu’s mosquito-obliterating breeze remained constant making it possible for me to frantically scribble notes while Josephine (with a little help from husband George and their nephew Alister) deftly threw together four huge, stunning dishes in under two hours colourfully representing the cuisines of Goa, Portugal and Gujarat.  By chance I had asked George last night if I could get a cookery lesson, he drawled back in his fascinating porto-indian accent “you can go in kitchen any time, but tomorrow there is a holiday, so go tomorrow, Josephine will show you, then you can eat”

It was delicious.  I have the recipes and all of the ingredients are straight forward UK purchases so those of you lucky enough to be in our come-dine-with-me club will be served Josephine’s Easter Lunch sometime in the next few months …I may even finish off with the cake she made for her daughter’s ninth birthday earlier in the week!

Stressed?

My skin’s getting pale

My bum’s getting fat

My razor’s gone blunt

But who will see that?

South Indian Dosa¹

and multi-cuisine

always a Thali²

But nothing that’s lean



Its too bright to read

Its too hot to walk

Its OK for drinking

But nothing here’s corked



A shalwar cameez³

or t-shirt and pants

my skin craves the sun

But men more than glance



Cheaper by sleeper

and quicker by train

none of it bothers

my super-chilled brain.

¹Pancake made from rice flour

²A regional all-you-can-eat set meal

³Tunic and trouser suit …normally with matching shawl/scarf

Wild Cows (try and keep a straight face)

Ashok, India’s most delightful auto driver cum Diu natural history guide, insisted there were wild cows in the woods where the lions live (Sasan Gir descended Asiatic Lions).  In my mind the concept of “wild cow” spun around as I tried to find a reference; some visual anchor to make sense of this phrase.  I found nothing and walked on in silence watching chipmunks scurrying on their busy errands over the forest floor.  That was until I pointed out a buffalo to Ashok who replied “No, its not a buffalo, the colour is buffalo but this is wild cow”.  Now this hulk of a beast was a little distance away but I managed to get a few shots of its oddly goat like face before we startled it and it sprung to standing to reveal its full peculiar form.

Now I like animals, I watch David Attenborough and I know my mammals but I had never seen anything like this dark grey reindeer bison.  Danny, who was rapidly photographing this Narnian beast lectures in all things natural he offered up a diagnosis that it possibly belonged to the goat/sheep group of animals …despite its mass.  Neither one of us had seen anything like it in the flesh or print.  On the church roof that night, Mica the Finn just laughed protractedly at the photos, it was something normally dreamed up by the stoned rather than shown to them!  Ashok at all times remained quietly confident with his identification of a wild cow.

Unless anyone can advise me differently (offers invited!), here is a Wild Cow….

Why Leave?

I traipse the trafficless

shade card streets

Smiling, greeted, greeting.