the roof of a Tata Sumo on a Tiger infested peak

rains on two thousand feet plains
as farming women with transparent plastic raincoats fetch potatoes and spinach
It's getting dark at 4:00 pm
the white Tata Sumo has floodlights and all-terrain tyres
as the brown hillocks in the distance give way eventually
to a two-thousand-year-old temple

We ask the villager "how many hours?"
"Can we make it in 4 instead of six?"
i told Anup you cannot bargain with time.

old portuguese bell
the world stops
in the drizzle and mist of the green haze
and the black dark temple with wired fences
to keep out tigers
the mist and the dark is reserved for the jungles of india
dal rice is bland and goes from boiling to cold in seconds
we sit on roof of the sumo
on our way back singing loudly

and

afraid in Bhimashanker

through Lonavla
and its million waterfalls
into Khandala