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1. Holi

In springtime, togged in white,
we follow a tree tagged with red
from barrack to barrack.

The procession grows, and so does
the singing, till we plant the tree
ceremoniously and with dignity.

It’s the start of a week-long booze-up.
Pails appear, and bamboo syringes,
and red water’s spattering us piebald.

At night it’s arms round shoulders,
swing left, swing right, swing left,
left foot over, right forward, and curried armpits —

Gadje Singh-a, Raneh Hatth-a ni janu:
We’re singing about a man who
went into the mountains and came to no good.

2.Mrs Eaton

Now there are women.
I dance with perfumed saris,

my breast to their breasts,
and enrage their husbands.

There are wives
flown out from England.

I sit by the swimming pool,
admiring Mrs Eaton.

I’d like to commit adultery.
She’s sunny and pretty

and perhaps she too
would like to commit adultery.

But we’re loyal to Captain Eaton,
and we flirt about books.

Good dog! I tell her retriever.
You’re so b-eau-tiful.

Just look at him' she says.
He believes every word you say!

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