Ferry Crossing | Lora Tomas

I

Crammed on a ferry across the Hooghly:
Durga’s madness whirls vortices of red
Along the shores. When the ferry docks,
Another river, faster and more dangerous,
Forms and surges through the openings
In both directions.
We drown while gasping for air –
People have climbed
Up to our necks.

II

I feel the overwhelming closeness
In this unmoving human stampede
Looking at you standing upright some distance away
Surrounded by smooth-faced Bengali boys
Aloof, your skin aglow with newfound pleasures
Your blue eyes tracing the elusive skyline just a few
Moments before this mass of passengers shoots out wild
To touch the sandy shores, and I stumble towards
Millions of knees, revealing the skin by slipping
Of the shawl caught mid fall by an elderly lady –
This is not the time or place
For random inappropriateness.
Later, safe behind the half-open taxi window
At a red stand still hushed among the cars
And smells and scents I hear you say –
There were more photographers than Durgas
At the immersion ghats
Yesterday.