Still stranded,

Uncertain of what to do

The NGO friends of a friend

of another friend, who were to show

me the real India

of the rural struggles

were nowhere to be found

their cell phones dead, the Server down

and Passepartout still AWOL

– move on to Allahabad as the script

commands?

Impulse: Tourism Office

Khana Reserve I am told

is not that far

“Ammonium!” I yelped, that is the

undertow of smell that Gieve Patel

missed – a tidal undertow

at Bombay Central Station, its strength

seeps through to settle as a coating of

the lung there, here, everywhere

The puzzled officer brushed my silliness

And informed Mr. Ammonium

That her uncle runs a fine Lodge

You can ride the Elephant

Spot the Tiger

Get a rest and piping hot shower

Another futile attempt to reach my Passepartout

Abominable English louts

in the vehicle:

Drinking, having fun, chanting

Pith-Helmets, binoculars and the belch of beer

Chorus: “Out in, out in, out in India”

“Hunting tigers can be ripping fun”

“Out in, out in, out in India (yah)”

You all know how beastly tigers are

“Out in, out in, out in India”

They bite, they scratch, they make an awful fuss

It's no use stroking them and saying “puss puss puss”

“Oh Hunting tigers out in India

Out in, out in, out in India (yuh)”

Great and then limericks –

“There was a young lady of Niger

Who smiled as she rode on a tiger;

They returned from the ride

With the lady inside,

And the smile on the face of the tiger.”

Banging, sipping and getting louder and louder

And when they finished with poor John Brown's body

They said: again, “hunting tigers…”

Her uncle was an elegant man

He had received the message

He made a point of greeting me

Leaving his underlings to deal with my cohorts

He was impressed by my task I’ll be your Parsi, Mr.Fogg, he chuckled.

After a whiskey and some cigarettes

On his veranda listening to the restless bush

I stood aghast at the imposing reproductions

In his living-room:

A Rhino, a Leopard and a Black Buck.