Neware, Maharashtra
the green lanes of morning
hi
from the lush green winding lanes of morning
on the easy snaking of the tarmac between the
thick oblique trunks of the mango trees
in the verdant river valley
with the twitter of the small birds
and the kgksxz of the couacals
and a fine mist still rising in the fields
on my easy saunter amongst, along, the just-so
the flat square blocks of colour of the walls and houses
the mix of colours of the curves of the temples
the green-green groves and orchards and avenues
the egrets around the pond
the chopped tree trunks and piles of red stone blocks
as the light seeps into the shadowed recesses of the undergrowth
and the first rays of sun break over the ridge
throwing the beams of light through the thick leaves
as i gambol on
rolling from this side to that
over the bridges
and into the villages
until i sit on a redstone wall
and then a fallen tree
fingering this, the thing you are reading, on my tablet
while watching
the colourful lines of women walking in the distant fields
the oxcart with two massive oxen
the Indian Roller on the telegraph wire
as the soundtrack
the rising Hindu singing and chanting
all floaty and ethereal
drifting gorgeously across the fields
as that temple music gets joined
by the sounds of two other unseen temples
one of fast loud talking
yet probably a Hindu sermon
while further away its chiefly drumming
so i’m strolling, stopping, turning, in this three-way confluence
this soundtrack of
one part floaty ethereal holy
one part superfast racing commentator
one part infectious rhythm
as i side-to-side and turn
and take this lane at pure whim
winding my way
from there to here to...
...
...
back in Gokarna
[300k South]
for 22 months of Lockdown
the main thing going on in my life was the sea
my biggest relationship was with the Ocean
that enormous wordless powerful space and thing, just there
i spent 22 months right next to it
...
yet here, now, in this month
its the green lanes which draw me
to wander and wind and pace and watch
and let the mind
a-ramble
...
...
...
...
later
coming back from Ganpatipule on a decrepit bus
i have the front seat
to observe an anthropological phenomenon
the Indian traffic jam
this one a long-weekend beach-town clog-up
which reveals the kindness and helpfulness of people
the stupidity and one-upping of people
the anger of folk
the lightness and humour of folk
the incompetence and passivity of individuals
the resourcefulness and proactiveness of individuals
as we inch our way out of Ganpatipule
and, after a held hour of observing other people’s
levity and frustration
their hopelessness and helpfulness
humility and fuckwittery
we are
liberated
out
gone
are charging along
crashing and banging on the non-existent suspension
on the bad roads
smoothly cornering
rolling past the seascape vistas
on my way back to Neware
so i can amble 2k more of
lovely lush green Indian lane
back to my over-swanky uncheap Homestay
and ...
sleep
...
...
...
