Last Night in Delhi

Hotel Shiva hid amongst street vendors,
street sweepers, and street children
bulbs burnt out looked like otel Siva
between the bank sign
and a tailor shop, we nearly missed it
walked in with water marks on pants
no notice, it was monsoon season
blue fluorescent lighting in the lobby
the front desk littered with petals and small cakes—
an offering to Lord Ganesh
the smell of sandalwood incense followed us
up the stairs to our room
no air conditioning
hotter in there than the Indian sun
relentless, suffocating
the bell boy said he’d get it fixed

took a bucket bath but
it didn’t matter
my hair was always the same—
slicked back in a sweaty bun
you said I looked beautiful

we met Sarah from church at the McDonalds
took two auto-rickshaws to get there
the chicken sandwiches were the same
and they had chocolate dipped ice cream cones
we smiled silently as we licked the salt off our fingers
I don’t even like McDonalds

all of the girls got their noses pierced
left nostril, no questions asked
he used a stone to sharpen the point of the stud
he sterilized it all with alcohol
you made sure
a pop of tissue, a clench of teeth
we all had a sparkle now with red around it
a sweet souvenir from India

back at our room
you opened the door
the heat poured out,
covered us like a quilt in summer,
you muttered something under your breath
as you went down the stairs
he switched it back on before you lost your temper
said the power went out

Remember that room?
psychedelic plastic conch shells covered the lights and
shone on cracked walls that could not be covered by paint,
the bathroom window would not shut so
you propped open a book while I bathed
so no one would peek
the sheets and comforter had strange stains and holes,
and these beds were harder than before
but this was not the worst

Remember that smell?
at first we thought it was coming from outside
sewage seeping in from under the window
but no, not even the toilet, not even in the bathroom
after sniffing around for a few we found it—
the bed
I gagged I took in such a deep breath
It smelt like sour milk, but not the kind we were used to—
buffalo milk, the kind used in chai
a mixture of that and urine, and something else unfamiliar
we tried to cover it up with cologne, with two more sheets,
with an extra blanket, but it persevered
and would not let us sleep
I was about to cry when
you made me laugh

you made a joke about how we could breathe
if we had extra long straws that would touch the ceiling
that way we could catch fresh breaths and plug our noses
we laughed so hard my stomach hurt
I had tears in my eyes

I woke up several times from my cheek resting
too long on the pillow and the stench
shaking me from my dreams
but I would look at you
with your face toward the ceiling
your hands folded peacefully on your stomach and
I would smile and fall back asleep


written: June 17, 2009