In the holy city of Varanasi

In the holy city of Varanasi

Transportation is by bicycle rickshaw

Embarrassing at first, then perfectly natural,

Like riding double with your brother. This day

I noticed the rickshaw-wallah was barefoot. "Wouldn't

you rather be wearing shoes?" I gestured, for

the pedals were toothed metal. "Of course I would,"

he gestured. "Then why don't you take mine," I offered,

scuffing them off, "since I'll just be sitting." The arch

supports took some getting used to, but soon

we were off to the University,

dodging other rickshaws, cows, dogs,

water carriers, elephants, and the river

of worshippers that flows eternal beside

the sacred Ganges. His thin legs flashed like pistons.

When I got out of the cab I paid him and tipped him

And gestured for my shoes. He looked shocked.

"You want them back?" Well of course I did. I needed

my shoes, a woman can't go in a library with naked

feet, to say nothing of getting home again.

Don't get me wrong, I'm generous. I had

Already given out thirty or forty

Rupees that morning, to the limbless child and the very

Old blind man and several mothers

With hungry babies, to say nothing of my daily offereing

To the gods Shiva and Ganesh.

But this fellow wasn't a begger, he

Was a rickshaw-wallah. What to do?

We both needed the shoes and although they belonged

To me, they were on his feet.