Why spoil the moment? I thought.
Outside my room, river Kwai rested mostly silently,
Remembering to flow only when prodded by the noise from a floating disco.
Why spoil this moment with thoughts?
It is supposed to be warm, but the water in the pool was icy
I was alone, trying to float
Without my glasses I wasn’t sure if
The American teenagers were staring or not.
In the morning, away from the sun,
I walked to the bridge on a dirt road with old cart wheels fences,
A small army of stray dogs followed me,
Each of them reminding me of mine, back home.
They all smile. A country of smiles.
From rickshaws, bikes, in front of their houses
They smile open smiles.
I haven’t frowned since I landed here, I thought.
Over a hill and a hidden valley, both miniature in scale,
Almost like that I have seen in my village,
I landed on the train tracks, overgrown with vegetation,
Away from the tourists’ glare.
The bridge over river Kwai.
I smelled of travel fatigue and tourist weariness.
Under the bridge a lonely boatman passed,
His eyes on the bridge training for tourists
The 8:40 train arrived while I was on the bridge,
As I jumped on the platform for cover,
The train full of Japanese tourists
Stared at me standing there wearing a straw hat.
What do you make of this? I asked myself.
Photographing myself in front of old locomotives
The other side was busy with a European team
Setting up for a documentary shoot.
Later, on a motorcycle taxi I went to the train station
A Muslim girl, head covered in scarf, Translated for me
Do you know Kanchanaburi well?
I want to escape to the waterfalls.
Instead I end in front of the World War cemetery.
Ibrahim Mohammed, Asif Khan, Karim Lala
Names of Indians who died in the battle greet me As I enter.
Celebrated on a small plaque away from the White celebrants.
They are buried elsewhere, the cemetery is for the masters.
They died alone, their blood spilled for no eulogies, no songs.
And strikingly, no place In front of their names for a wreath.
