Parsi's farewell: You know

my friend you are condemned

It says so: save Aouda from a sati

Where?

Somewhere between Bhopal,

Delhi and Allahabad

It doesn't matter, Verne’s

topography is screwed

The hero breaks the cycle of

devotion and madness

Parsi's admission: Men here die

before they are dead these days

It saves on wood

Most women are widows

from their wedding days

Parsi's advice: You need to put an

announcement in the paper – ready to

save from sati – dark sort of white,

chap, foreigner with credit card,

maestro, versatile and ponderous,

looking for almost living widow, upper

caste, minimum: kshatryia, with fine

features, post card exotic, loaded

with jewels and gems with bracelets,

earrings, and rings, optional; tunic

bordered with gold, and bare minimum

a muslin robe, recommended, as the

book says, share adventure and get

back to London on time.

“Ride my elephant baby, take

photographs of dancing monkey. He?”

When you get to Connaught, you look

for ones with large shopping bags.

Between Hanuman's Temple

and the corner to the

Khadi shopping mall, between the

supplicants, lepers and magicians

She was there

Parsi's friend of a friend: painted black

face with white dots and a golden stud

In a black dress and black headscarf on

dark body, Kali herself Buying Pepsi…

Then the shock: Hey Parsi Man? How do I save her?

Ask the magicians – no time to waste

and build the atmosphere

– You? she said,

(One hundred medicants and fakirs danced in the pit of my stomach)

– You? I said, aren't you the low and base

woman who borrowed my Parker Pen?

– You, she said, aren't you the fluff-fluff

poet from South Africa? You? With the

stupid lines Shiva from Nazareth and

Lenin from Burundi? I confiscated your

pen my man, you call it borrowing?

(200 hundred Brahmins prayed in my heart)

– You? Who dressed you up like that?

My Lord, where did you stick your

head in…(Say it)…Aouda?