Sometimes I hear the harmonium
play in my dreams, songs of past
kings and lovers that walked
the same narrow streets as me
The streets seem to shift like the dunes
moving and changing as the city grows
but those who live here know
every corner and crevice by heart
They know where to tailor the best
kurtas and which stalls make the
tastiest momos and what places
offer the most beautiful city views
(The guesthouse’ rooftop wins every time)
The city is full with the lives of stray
dogs and families of cows and children
who chase after us, giggling and wondering
how this gori came to be here
Here, in the middle of the Thar desert
where the sun lingers high in the air
and a gentle breeze is the only
reprieve from the heat
From sunrise to sunset, the call to prayer
echos against the sandstone walls
as children are let out from school and
women begin preparing dinner
Parathas and chai, maybe khadi khichadi
or roasted mirchi, sabji roti, dal and white rice,
thalis are heaped to the brim for the men while
the women wait until dusk to eat their fill
In the night, the music of weddings blasts,
carrying with it the merriment of the families who
are newly joined, and the music of the Merasi
who lead the procession with power and precision
A reminder of the days of kings and lovers
who sat in the palace listening to musicians play
the harmonium, the dholak, the kartal, singing songs
about the generations of old
(Knowing their own stories would someday be told)
But life in the city is not so simple, nor is
it easy; with caste at the forefront of
people’s minds and daily lives defined
by their family’s trade
A simple interaction in the market
in a language I don’t understand
means more than I could ever know
The danger of speaking up or speaking
out runs rampant through every smile and
nod. Silence is more deafening than
the noise I often find myself surrounded by
And breaking the silence is
not a choice for me to make; I am but a
spectator, another privileged person
offering my power to those without
At night, when the dogs stop barking
and the drumming halts, I oftentimes wonder
if within the brief silence, there is a danger lying
in wait, ready to strike
(Because reality is never as clear as it seems)
A thousand tiny mirrors inside my bedroom but
I can never see my full reflection; reminds
me of how we never see the entire picture
until we are painted inside it ourselves
