75

decay. The general lack of personal possessions or household goods. The depressing barred, crumbling atmosphere of most homes. The great expense of time that simple menial tasks require. The crowding, commercial lives Indians lead, with increased friction between relatives. That good men with intelligence are forced to spend wasteful lives in unemployment. That every Indian feels he as the right to bear as many children as his wife can deliver, and on and on. Make for a poverty of spirit. Trapped lives encased in endless tight circles.

May 18 Mon.

My tone always seems to turn bitter. I need a rest.

"Would you like to meet our leader?"

Subterranean streets at night, truly like the mad twisting of a deranged mind crumbling, organic with out plan - glimpses through barred windows of dime interiors men in shorts sprawled on [ILLEGIBLE: looks like "chochis"] jail quality slits of window light illuminate other walls. Avoiding cow dung slime and garbage with dark steps, fingers wrapped in gloom from nowhere, flashed with brightness in front of a tea stall, naked bulbs dangle, negative-positive twisted wire. The lanes wrap you in collected heat your visual senses tingle, walls as you walk. A dimly angular constructed intestine, silent humans slide past - we arrive at the leaders house - knocking unanswered Indian door - led to empty room. Unlit here. Closed shuttered windows. Molding white surfaces. Office desk semi-circled by straight back chairs with green slip-covers over the top quarter pictures on walls.

76

Gandhi-Nehru. Some women, group graduation pictures, calendars of siva-lingams, whirling overhead fan, large dark wooden cabinet, locked safe in the wall - a sealed room, a room where men meet to make plans in secret, my thoughts play with walls and chains - Leader enters - loud firm handshake, glasses, English spoken here command - intro remarks, questions, he doesn't listen to my answers - denouncing Cambodia. Vietnam policy of US - he is not interested in my replies - no exchange - he is giving a speech, firm raised voice, crowd gestures, black + white, I know what's right. Old style politician even though he's communist. I sense he would be just as comfortable in the Congress Party, at least he has the same political mentality. Strong, the type to attract votes, transported to and from the communist leader of Benares through an ugly dream maze of darkness.

May 18, Mon

Image: Downtown Vanarasi, night busy Tuesday, temple day, scurrying traffic: crowds of bicycle and rickshaws narrowly missing each other and pedestrians, noise-rattle of multiple bells, rapidly moving humans displacing space. Slowly, among the mass a single [ILLEGIBLE: looks like "nurti"] waller with a huge paper-mache figurine of a mother goddess balanced on his head, wanders dazed. Lost connection, he peers here and there looking for the others. Old man, anxiety in his eyes, late, the others are gone. Where is the wedding? He staggers amongst the crowd, crowned by the fertility devi reigned in bright enamel colors, trying to decide on a direction.

May 19, Tue