Steel Notes Magazine
January 2017
her alone or he ’ d tell their mothers on them . The memory made her smile . He was more than a decade older than her , and she ’ d only known him a month , but she had moved into the houseboat with him the same day they met and into his bed that night .
No longer alone , as she had been in the backwaters , Nikki maneuvered the shikara easily between the other boats traversing the large lake . When Nikki had first taken a shikara out by herself , she had trouble steering it . She copied the other rowers , sitting at the very front of the long , narrow canoe , like some native in a picture she ’ d seen in an old National Geographic , so far forward it looked as if the boat should just tip over .
At first , no matter what she tried , rowing on either side , fast or slow , she just went in circles . With further observation of the Kashmiri oarsmen , she ’ d gotten the hang of it , putting the oar in , twisting it as she stroked , and pulling it out with its blade parallel to the boat . Now she used the little boat every day to go across the lake to where there were a few local shops and to catch the bus into Srinagar , and for these pleasure cruises in the evening .
There was easiness to her life here , although life in India isn ’ t easy . Running water , especially hot running water , is rare . Power fails often , and although there is an intelligentsia , and India has nuclear weapons , computers , scientists and a middle class , a majority of the population remains poor and illiterate ; irrigation in village fields is often accomplished by hand , with women carrying little clay pots full of water to pour on the plants . Nikki used to see them when she traveled long distances by train . She ’ d look through the window and watch the women in their cotton saris and knobby bare feet carrying the pots of water as they moved through the fields .
India ’ s sewage systems weren ’ t the most modern either , and sometimes , when she ’ d looked out the window on those train trips , she also used to see people lined up in the fields in the early morning , all squatting and taking a shit . A little clay pot of water , called a lota , beside them . When they were finished , they ’ d hold the lota in their right hand and , still squatting , pour the water down the crack in their bottom , swishing themselves clean with the left hand and the flowing water .
She remembered in Bombay , when she walked down by Sasoon Docks , where , even just a short distance from the huge , luxury hotels , she ’ d seen early morning shitters squatting on the beach to defecate . The tide would flow in over their ankles and roll out with the feces .
Despite the hardships and unpleasantness , Nikki had come to love India . She relished the slower pace and didn ’ t miss the modern conveniences , except maybe hot water for a shower once in a while . Although the basic chores of sustaining herself took a lot of time , she seemed to have more time . Her moments were filled with the reality of the world right up against her . No constant bombardment of news from beyond the borders of her daily life .
When she walked through Srinagar , Delhi , or Calcutta , among the people wound in saris , dhotis , lungis and turbans , enmeshed in the flow of modern life through ancient lanes , she ’ d see an elegance of existence , imbuing everyday things with beauty and meaning . The slanting brightness of sunlight on a mound of spices , flowers in a garland , appeared as visual poems .
Here every image seemed to coexist with its history ; the past lived visibly within the present , and the continuity of survival made her feel secure . Negative thoughts and imagined fears about the future paled against the vividness of the moment .
Anatol sometimes teased her about her romantic idealism . “ Shit is shit ,” he would say , “ you can romanticize about the spirituality of primitive conditions and escape from your fears and responsibilities through fantasy , but the reality here is cholera .”
Evening light poured into the houseboat , warming the carved mahogany and cherry wood furniture , shadows deepening the textures of brocade and lace . The sheets on the unmade bed were rumpled , and Nikki ’ s clothes lay piled on the floor . She and Anatol sat at the small teak table . Naked and nonchalant , Nikki watched Anatol . He was shirtless , with fine black hair on his chest , a slim stomach and a lungi wrapped around his hips , as he tapped the end of his unfiltered cigarette
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