BUT REMEMBER THE DANCE.
Fully flying, arriving into colour and noise.
The women swaying and constant bhajan.
(The bhajan – the slow’ish’, sometimes!! religious songs. *banjay – to cry in Hindi.)
Around and around they danced, singing all the time.
In the dim electric , clapping and marking time
around and around,
The table , wrapped in sari and colour –
They sit in state together
In the centre of the dance.
The picture of marital harmony.
The women clap and bow to them
With solemn faces.
The drums began……
One older woman would rise and allow herself to get sucked into the drums deep heart.
Stamping and writhing –
The sari pulled over their solemn face, expressive faces, others took her place,
The motion of INDIA….
the net casting
the chappatti making
eyes to the ground
And stamping all the while.
The constant tread of India’s millions.
And I danced with them.
They gave me my henna-hand ‘mandee’
A chance to ‘feel’ my strange sisters
The true Parvatti’s.