..that is Forever England.
Some people
have daily affirmations. Mine goes something like this:
‘Holy
fucking crap!’
‘Jesus H
christ’
‘I/He/she/we/
are all going to die’
Ah yes.
Delhi traffic. I had been warned, but like so many things, nothing prepares you
till you experience it. One of my sacred cows of self-belief (‘’I don’t get
scared’’) is now in the scrap heap of self-realisation. I used to say I could
count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve been scared in my
life. Well, now I can count them on two
hands and half belong to Delhi which is pretty spectacular seeing as I haven’t
even been here a week.
On a daily basis on my route to work,(I've only been twice; yesterday was a day off. Either to celebrate the 44 degree heat or Buddha's birthday, not sure which) bicycles, tuk tuks, motorbikes and cars, toot
and crisscross in up to ten lanes of traffic and sometimes not all going in the
same direction (cyclists!).Today in a tuk tuk I skimmed so close to a bus that
I could have stretched out my finger and touched the wheel, I was tempted till
I realised that if I did a motorbike would probably still try to whip through
the 4 inch gap and snap my arm off so I decided not to.
I admire the
die-hard (no pun intended) pedestrians who cross the traffic – today a lady
managed with a combination of grace, ease and confidence to cross six or seven
lines of traffic. I gawped at her, awestruck, with the kind of admiration one
usually reserves for nobel prize winning scientists or world class pianists. Truly
this lady is my hero.
I had a
thorough security briefing and yet I am confident that if
anything unfortunate should come to pass, it will almost certainly be a Delhi
highway. Which is why I thought the title (ever so slightly adapted) from the war
poem by Rupert Brooke was so apt.
It’s a
lovely poem and I think captures the spirit of navigating Delhi traffic quite
nicely:
The Soldier (by Rupert Brooke)
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IF I should die, think only this of me;
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That
there's some corner of a foreign field
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That is
for ever England. There shall be
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In
that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
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A dust
whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
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5
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Gave,
once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
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A body
of England's breathing English air,
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Washed
by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
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And
think, this heart, all evil shed away,
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A
pulse in the eternal mind, no less
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10
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Gives
somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
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Her
sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
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And
laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
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In
hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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