Don't Drink Bees

I wake in my cocoon of mosquito netting
Crows cawing
Metal dishes clanking
A wallah calling out wares for sale
Rickshaw horns blowing, engines revving
In time to invisible traffic signals
A rhythmic cacophony

I feel the heat
A heavy, comforting weight against my body
The fan above my bed whirs, tossing the air
It rustles the pages of my journal, lying on the desk
Speed is set on high

I smell chapatis cooking
And the dust
It has blown in from the street
And the acrid, but reassuring scent of smoke

My eyes are closed
But I see the awakening

I know where I am
I am in Bombay
A city which is alive
And I am completely alive here

I emerge