Where In The World Am I?

Janie of An Obsessive Compulsive Plant Collector had done a post
in early November about where we garden bloggers were planted. I
had been meaning to do this for a while but too many posts came in
between and November brought me more than my share of the usual
computer aches and pains:) And instead of prose I've turned to
From a poem titled "Guwahati" by our region's most prolific
writer, Indrani Raimedhi, who has kindly granted me permission
to reproduce her poem here.










Guwahati, that's where I live. In the north-eastern region of India,
in the state of Assam. I've called this city home since 1993. It's the
largest city in our region and one of the fastest growing cities in
India. Its etymological root is derived from two Assamese words--
"Guwa" and "Haat". The first stands for areca nut/areca catechu and the
second means 'market'. These photos show the fruit on the tree and
the harvest. The ripe ones turn a rich shade of yellowish orange.
You can find out more about the nut here.


Home to more than a million people, Guwahati stands on the banks
of the mighty river, the Brahmaputra. The city is dotted with hills.
Summer's maximum temperature can be as hot as 38* and our short-lived
much-loved winter temps vary between 10* and 25-27*













Guwahati

Ancient city with a young heart
Hills huddle around you
Like old women at a birth
Or a funeral
A sullen river
Receives your offerings silently
Of flowers,ash,coins

Guwahati

You contain multitudes
Slums break out like rash
Your arteries are choked with cars
You die a little
As fumes permeate your lungs
As floods surge into your homes
And taps run dry
You die a little
When they tear down your
Dreaming, time-worn houses
Dig up your verdant fields




The Brahmaputra


Guwahati

You unleash a melody
The clamour of bells at Kamakhya
Trains mournful whistles
Tumult of traffic
Cries of children at play
Muezzins call for prayers
The madman's muttered obscenities
Ringing of telephones
Scream of pilot cars
catcalls of eaveteasers




The Kamakhya Temple on Nilachal Hill


Guwahati

Lovers link arms
Under your Krishnachura
As red as the blood
Of the scooterist who
Died in your street




The Flame Tree in bloom. Locally called the Krishnachura


Guwahati

Your people have no time
To read the graffiti on your walls
Or live out a cosmic experience
At your planetarium
Few care to walk
The corridors of your history
Or even know why
A frozen God contemplates the river
At Sukleswar
At the temple of the nine planets
On Chitrachal hill
The earthen lamps flicker
To dispel the darkness



One of the city streets in the evening


Guwahati

Every day your old self
Dies a little
The glossy tourist brochures
Have for you
A brand new sobriquet
Gateway to the north-east
How can you be
Only a threshold
To be crossed?
They have forgotten the pulsebeat
Of your history
Perhaps only the statues
In your parks
Remember your past
The wrinkles under your paint
The hills huddle around you
The river sullenly washes your side
Live on Guwahati
Dreaming under the sky.



View of the city photographed from Nilachal Hill