Mumbai1

They tell me I should hate Mumbai.
23 million people in a hurry,
honking horns, wasted lives,
dirt smog noise, unrest unease,

Caviar and swordfish,
children dying on the streets.

It is torturous and tragic,
Excess joy and excess pain,
Like the mystical magician
She’s the master of extremes.

The world tells me I should hate Mumbai,

And yet I feel something beautiful
because now I know that amidst the squalor,
and amidst the pain, exist people
Who will let you into their heart
When you turn up at their door,
And in the middle of poverty,
Are people with dreams,
Are women of strength,
Are families with hope.

Do not tell me to look into this world
And see only darkness.

Varanasi1

Varanasi, so I never forget...

Varanasi, city of my heart,
You so disturb me
With your adolescent caresses.

Varanasi, ancient city
Old beyond time,
Wiser than rivers, deeper than seas.

You are like a young man to me,
Lean and waiting, impatiently poised
At the startline of adulthood. Come
near me, urgently, Fumbling against me
In the dark, circling hand seeking navel,
Cool fingers sink in
Deeper than skin.

Your tenderness enslaves me,
Despite your brash nature,
Your quick temper, your dirty streets
And tourist traps,

Your tenuous love so enthralls me,
I never know whether to love
Or escape you.

“Madam rickshaw please.”
“Where are you from?”
“Where are you going?”

Oh you fool,
You dusty soul,
I do not know.
I will leave you always wondering…

Welcome to vietnam

This is one of my very first experiences in Vietnam. It took place while I was still on the bus from Laos, about to enter into the great city of Hanoi. It is just another one of those small, surprising moments that sneaks into your heart and makes a nest there. Subtle, insignificant, but unforgettable...

My first interraction with a Vietnamese person was a grandmother sitting behind the side walk just in front of a small row of shops. When the bus stopped, I looked through the glass of the window and saw her sitting there. She looked quite beautiful, peaceful and dignified in her age. She was holding a small baby on her lap.

When she noticed I was looking at her I smiled timidly, unsure what she might be thinking or feeling about this foreignor staring at her through a bus window. A thousand questions were at the back of my mind. Are people here friendly? What do they think of foreignors? Is it rude to sustain eye contact?

She smiled back warmly, and I returned the smile more broadly this time. I must have looked away for a second because when I looked back I saw that she was still smiling and now she was holding the baby's arm in the air and moving it back and forth to wave at me. It was such a playful gesture! Meanwhile, she kept smiling at me, too. Of course, I waved back. I was starting to feel a bit shy, but she seemed so genuinely happy to be sharing this moment with me and her granddaughter that I kept looking back at her to smile again even though the bus had now stopped some meters farther forward.

When the bus finally started moving again I looked back, smiled at her and waved good bye. I felt like I was leaving a new friend.

At that point if I was still a little tense about coming to Vietnam as an American - and I was - this grandmother really eased my worries. Vietnam must be like anywhere, I think, be warm to people and most of them will return the favor. Be cruel and they will be cruel too. In the end it still is not nationality that matters but heart.