Bit of protry:

Gangtok


Internal memos. Ongoing memories. Sharing a couch with a sacklet of tea. BBC on my ears, or at least one of them as the other is half-busy with dog barks and the whirr of voltage stabilizers. How would I redecorate this house? Hang weavings from the corners and get some of those classic wood-backed photographs. Gutters and concrete-floor-stackings; strained-necks under the weight of gravel or bananas; heapings of bright Chinese-made blankets and jumpers – tufts of polyester sprinkled on the floor; the smell of samosas and “veg-paradise”-thali’s from below; the train-track-clicking of tailors busy over woolen jackets and saffron-silk-shirts; the honk-beep-aluminium-clatter of cars, sausaging through town at 10 rupees-a-hill. Languid busyness this town ere.

shovel-noise at night,
glitter as stones crack,
everyone is building a house.

when is winter?
balcony to the bedroom:
“I sleep diagonal in my bed”.

indoor blossom-droop,
rug-stretches,
tempted by television.

after “a fine balance”
cloth to the tailors –
shirts for ministerial dealings.

hill-top whiskey and tea,
worryingly enthusiastic
how to say no to ch'ang?