By Rachana Pathak
PART 1
I am your living museum
For you to idealize –
The village life
Happy peasants
Smoking beedis in the fields
Bring out your reels.
I am your living museum
A time capsule for finding –
Ancient rituals,
The incense and,
The kinsmen dressed in crimson
Free admission.
I am your living museum
Unravel the enigma –
Of Shiva and the Buddha
The tempting tantric spectra
On your one-month
Travel visa.
I am your living museum
Bend off the beaten path –
Binoculars and backpack intact
Snap the poor and folklore
With your
Trusty Kodak.
I am your living museum
Befriend porters and women –
To authenticate
Your fresh vision.
Weave a fiction of hopes and
Hedonism.
I am your living museum
Clap to Resham firiri –
Flowing skirts
All carefree
With turquoise beads and bindis
Flaunt your savvy.
I am your living museum
For you to romanticize –
But come quick
Before the noble savage.
Quits the village leaving you
Without footage.
I am your living museum
But can’t you see
Your gaze is aging
Times are a changing.
Demonstrating and upstaging
No more medieval waiting
Or royal taking.
I am your living museum
And I see your wistful gaze
For heartfelt times before
An exotic amour
A privileged pleasure shore.
That is no more.
PART 2
In your country –
I remain a living museum.
My big eyes brown skin
Spirituality
Tantric energy
Feed your fantasy.
In your country –
You dabble
To comprehend this docile
Tribal spectacle:
Your English is very good
You commend
And I playfully pretend
Not to take offense
Yes I’m from Shangrila –
I revert and bend
The dynamics.
I’ll read you Ginsberg and will transcend.
And just like you
Condescend.
But do you see what’s happened
In your country –
We are
A Gurkha recruit
A trafficked beaut
A minor suit.
And though we uprooted in pursuit
We cannot beat
This third world repute.
In your country –
The shit and lotus flowers
Stay intertwined
And I am consigned
The living museum is enshrined
In your mind
With different outlines.
Rachana Pathak is a Nepali-American woman who lives in Brooklyn, NY.
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