Indian Walls

INDIAN WALLS

With Apologies to Robert Frost

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Wall in waiting, wall unfinished



Something there is, in India, 

That wants to build a wall, 

That wants to build one up,

Stick by stick, stone by stone, block by block.
That pulls East Indians from their usual torpor,
And sets them working even in the hot-hot sun,
Building walls where oft there is no need

Other than the need to build a wall

Just for the sake of there being a wall.

First, build a wall

The heavy work is mostly done by women,
In colourful saris, with bare feet and hands. 
The men direct or simply stand and watch:
But they must supervise all working women,
To ensure top quality. 

The walls they build,

Of blocks or stone or rocks or wire or wood,

Are often never finished, or if they are,

They seldom last beyond a season

Or two at most.

A necessary but useless sign

So when you see them you might wonder why
Anyone would bother building them at all.
But an Indian wall may serve 

So many different uses.
And least of all to keep things in or out.

The highest purpose is so obvious
That all detect it when they’re passing by:
‘Hold your nose or use a handkerchief?'
The smell of urine reeks and lingers long.
But there is also more:



Construction waste by wire fence

The Indian wall is also such a useful place 
For throwing litter, garbage and all else.
Here there is no need for proper landfills:
The walls provide a perfect place for all.











The bigger the better, but what for...?

 And if one asks, 'Instead of walls,

‘why not use toilets, dustbins?’
If one dares to ask the question ‘why?’, 
I wonder if it might put a notion 

In the Indian wall-building head:
'Why do we build so many walls? Could we
Not build something else more useful?
But here there are no toilets,
And Indian men prefer to pee on walls.
So never mind the walling in or walling out,
As cows and goats and pigs roam free as birds.




Train tracks also make good toilets!

In India, 'Something there is that loves to build more walls.'  It could be sheer stupidity, 

But it's not that exactly, it’s more a lack of
Common sense – and toilets.  

If Indians could just take a moment, 

To think their actions through
To organize and plan, as other peoples do.
Then maybe they could stop wall building

And concentrate instead on useful things

Like water systems, proper landfills, sewers, toilets

And transportation systems that actually work.

But no such luck because you see, 

'Good walls are making good toilets!"

 

I Struggle to Survive

I Struggle to Survive

by Prithi Chittarbee

April 13, 2007

Died of swallowing poison at age 12.

 

I struggle to survive, born another useless girl

My mother died of shame and bleeding

My father broken-hearted angry

The uncooked grains of rice he put into my 

Hungry wailing newborn mouth were not enough

To kill me but still I feel their brittleness

My murderous welcome to this hard dry world

I struggle to survive and I do but

No one wants the girl who killed her mother

Who broke her father’s spirit

Such a bad luck girl

 

Taken in by an old auntie and uncle

I work from the day I can walk

Fetching carrying I am the legs and arms of

My poor protectors

I learn to carry water on my head

To beat the wet clothes clean against the rocks

Until my arms ache

To pound the grain to plant the rice to bake the bread

To sweep the floors

To go without food all day while I work

To avoid the angry slaps and kicks that come my way

For being such a lazy useless bad luck girl

No one comforts me when I cry

No one cares for me when I am sick

I struggle to continue

 

In my guardians’ small hovel is a little alter

I place some precious grains of rice

Those grains meant to kill me

And some water and little flowers I have picked

Before a torn and faded picture of Lord Shiva

And pray for someone to care

I promise to work hard without complaint but

No one answers my prayers

I struggle to believe

 

In my village is a man who no one likes

He is ugly and he is dirty

He is old and mean

He beats his dogs and goats

He scares the children away

He has no wife and no children

No one to cook and clean for him

I do not go near his house

I do not like him

I am afraid of him

 

My poor protectors tell me that this man

Has offered a good price for me

A good price for a useless bad luck girl

And they have accepted

I feel the hard dry grains of rice again in my mouth

Choking me

I struggle to breathe

 

I am sad and afraid but there is no pity

For this useless bad luck girl

“You are lucky someone wants such a poor and

Useless girl as you.  You have no dowry.

Less than nothing are you worth.

With luck you will have a son and then

You will be worth something.”

 

But I know I will not have a son

I will have daughters like my mother

Useless bad luck girls

And I will die of shame and bleeding

Why do I struggle to survive?