Monkeys toss rocks on the tin roof of our hotel, maybe to keep it from blowing away.
The incredible craziness of colors, this is such celebrated life.
We taste the vibrancy with our eyes and our noses dusty, dirty sandalwood masala orange yellows smear together, in the shade. sacred cows walk the streets, third eyes anointed, marigolds strung on streams of string, monkeys roam like stray cats fucking on windowsills and plaster arches, chaotic tuk tuk drivers battle the scooters, incense burns on alters in every corner, doorways dedicated to Shiva, Hanuman, Ganesh.
We walk folded in color. i wear pants like rainbow pillowcases, covered in a white wool tent poncho. James says I look like a Swedish llama.
And through it all flows the thick turquoise Ganga. I watch a man perched on a rock spread his skirt and shit into her blue hands, a boy delicately drink from her and a family swim under her currents carrying all that can't be held
to the sea.