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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 3, September 2014

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Yesha Shah
Surat, Gujarat, India


Morning Raga

With the sound of the rooster’s caw, I am out wearing my favourite running shoes, off into the morning world. Each sound, sight and smell has a story to tell:

the blaring bollywood music of the gateman’s mobile phone,
the familiar hymns of the Krishna temple,
the sonorous clang of the temple bells during morning worship,
the cooing of the koel perchep atop the blossoming mango trees,
the lingering scent of jasmine flowers,
the waltzing flight of gulmohar blooms dripping on the road,
the aroma of ginger tea brewed by the roadside chaiwallah,
the static buzz of the transformer wires,
the vroom-vroom of the black clad Harley-Davidson bikers riding “Charlie Bear” on the city streets,
the group of cyclists religiously pedaling away,
a canoodling couple under the tree’s shade,
the rattling aluminum cans of the local milkman on his old fashioned motor cycle,
the tinkling bicycle horns of the daily wagers going to work,
the smell of burnt wood merging with maize rotis on the pavement dweller’s hearth,
the cry of the infant lying in the cloth jhoola,
the smile of the grimy toddler standing half clothed next to his mother.

I soak in each of these and lose myself for a moment.

spring sunrise—
I try not to trample the
fallen blossoms

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