Curry, cricket & culture – Part 6

My South African soles step onto Indian soil, these are my stories…

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Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
“It’s ok my child, you are surrounded by sinners.”

This land riddled with gods is impossible to decipher,
I should stop walking around believing I am one.

There are no answers here, only more questions.

I have spent weeks in my room.
Maybe it’s the AC, maybe I’m just lazy.
I feel alone behind the 25 million faces of this city,
maybe I should stop wearing my mask.

The weather has changed drastically,
wading through water ankle height within minutes.
It’s time for a little less forecast
and a lot more getting caught in the rain.

There is one for every bite:
“Be careful, its mosquito season.”
“Be careful, its mosquito season.”
“Be careful, its mosquito season.”
“Be careful, its mosquito season.”
“Be careful, its mosquito season.”
“Be careful, its mosquito season.”
“Be careful, its mosquito season.”
“Be careful, its mosquito season.”
“Be careful, its mosquito season.”

I am fighting a flu, I doubt the two are related.
My body is trying to shed its skin.
Headache, muscle pains, blurry vision.
Symptoms that come with the territory?
Manifestations of wrestling with your identity?
If I came to India to find enlightenment,
I am looking in the wrong places.

There is inspiration at every turn.
A poem on every corner, a prose inside every cornea.

The more I walk these streets, the less I have to fill my shoes.
The more I let destiny decide, the less I have to choose.

Dharma, take the wheel…

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