A Day In Bombay

After Sunday breakfast I left Alibag
for Bombay, just me and my camera bag.
Through small villages, past a gated home
to the ferry wharf, a pleasant day to roam.
I chose the Maldar Catamaran, fastest
of the ferries, with more comfort than the rest.
I bought a ticket and then waited for the boat.
The day was warm, sunny, no need for a coat.

We soon filed aboard the shiny white ferry.
A loud horn blast, a message not to tarry.
I looked ahead. How soon could I spy Bombay?
A packet boat, for those who did not pay
the higher fee, slid behind with clanking
sounds from an engine, aged and breaking.
The water of the bay, strewn with refuse
tossed from boats by passengers without excuse.

We passed closely by the Indian Naval
Station, no photography allowed at all.
The ferry slowly moved in, past other ships
bobbing in its wake. A noisy seagull skips
past. The ferry, now safely tied, gently rocks
on waves that lap at the wharf, splash on the chocks.
I walked up the rough wood gang plank aimlessly
and stepped into another world, noiselessly.

Gateway of India and the Taj Mahal
Intercontinental Hotel stood so tall
before me as I gawked. I gazed at people
walking around the square, dressed in gold, purple
and myriad other colors, a vivid sight,
while unfamiliar, yet a rare visual delight.
A dark snake charmer, dancing cobra and flute
performed as spellbound people watched, ate their fruit.

I walked past the Oval Maidan, a large game
field with cricket matches everywhere. The same
game was played informally on many street
corners, a national craze. I watched the feet
of a youth dancing to an Indian melody,
a haunting tune in minor key, a rhapsody.
Wondrous odors of food, cooked in many places,
filled the air. I watched the people and their faces.

I ate some meat, maybe goat, cooked with curry
and Indian spices. I saw a bug scurry
from a chasing dog. A young child looked my way
friendly, yet shy. I turned, slowly walked away.
I walked along Back Bay to see the buildings
along the far shore. On Marine Drive, pilings
marked a new construction site. Time now to leave,
I turned toward the wharf, no reason to grieve.

I walked quickly down Mahatma Gandhi road
to Mukharji Chowk. I saw an old man load
a huge sack on his shoulder, stumble away.
A young soldier in uniform came my way,
my passport to see. Polite, yet firm, he said
"Your camera must be in the bag!" I read
my map, the ferry office to find.
I walked down Shivaji Marg, ferry in mind.

I bought my ticket with just minutes to spare,
walked past the cinema to the Gateway square.
A woman walked through the crowd, a bright green bird
on her shoulder. People, acting quite absurd
posed for pictures with their friends, joking, laughing,
they waited for the boat. I began walking
towards the boat to begin the journey home,
a sharp horn blast, the signal no more to roam.