Assault on My Senses

Assault on My Senses

My pillow smells faintly like starched mothballs

It’s comforting in a grandmotherly sort of way

On the street, a cacophony of smells, sounds and sights intermingle with taste

like a poorly-planned party where the guests feel awkward

and can’t wait to leave

Old urine, fresh urine, tomorrow’s urine

piled high but invisible

Sautéing spices,

air-conditioned body odor

fields of burning plastic

sulfuric sewage

smoldering incense wafts to meet my nostrils—

thick, perfumey

and the flowers—

oh, intoxicating flowers

struggling to mask the urine trails

of intoxicated bums

lying between the brightly contrasting homes of mixed hues

with a colorful temple on every corner and bold, vivid scenes

depicting the heroic acts of gods

and goddesses venerated

for thousands of years                                                      

Flowing silk saris of every shade

folded neatly, stacked ceiling-high

make it impossible to choose

which one to buy

Same dilemma with the dazzling jewelry,

variety of bags, rugs, blankets, sandals

whatever you desire

To illustrate the scene,

each crayon in the box would feel like a VIP

Dogs barking get lost in the

honking beeping shrieking banshee horns

announcing our arrival

or impending doom with a lost game of Chicken

Incessant horns on the road,

more prevalent than seat belts, ironically

compete with others for the biggest, baddest sound

Can I pay more for a bus that doesn’t honk?

Train whistles make it hard to sleep

As do the (loud)speakers blaring music

all through the night

of that woman singing nasally high-pitched

What harvest festival is this?

Did you have to blast it to the moon?

Celebrating new produce, weddings and young girls’ first periods

Food is vital to a celebration

Vital to life

Salty, sour, sweet, pungent and bitter in every bite

Delicious, exotic, spicy and hot

Can my mouth handle this?

Sinus-cleaning: a bandana is my necessary utensil

to wipe my dripping forehead and nose and

chewing my banana-leaf plate helps temper the flavor

while eating in

air so thick I could sit on it

The heat, they say, is oppressive

But nothing chokes me more

Than what we do to each other

Strangers to strangers,

Nations against nations,

Friends and families

No one is immune, it seems,

From the daily offenses given

And received

(sometimes when none was intended)

So many are petty, yes,

but can anyone deny

The significance of so many horrors happening

In homes that are no haven

I sleep on this mothbally pillowcase

And I try to sort out the scenes of the day

I know that later, in another place,

any of these senses can whisk me back to this moment—

Nay, to this place

My senses easily recover from the dissonance they’ve encountered

But hearts—

They are a different matter

4.21.12