Mumbai-Pune Expressway Poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph

In last ten days, I have travelled
From Mumbai to Pune five times
In this monsoon. Surrounded in the middle
By green mountains that delight me
With their form, ridge and image, varied ever
Like the placement of stars in the sky.

After the toll of Rs 140 is paid,
The car always turns left at Food Mall,
To mix with the hoi polloi
And I order idli-saambhar and coffee
Like a true South Indian, despite my
Forty years’ stay in Maharashtra,
Where the locals order poha
Or sabhudhana vada if he is fasting,
Or, he loves vada-pav, the burger
Of the poor man, as they say.

Oh yes and it is such a relief to relieve
It toilet is clean, but that is rare.

Kamat places huge mirrors
To keep the women the decision-makers
In travelling families to be attracted
To his hotels, cafes and restaurants.

Before entering Lona vala, I see from Mumbai
Bare rock, overhanging and tied up
With metal netting into which
One can see some boulders lie:
I wonder how they can prevent those
That break from the top and slide over:
They are sure the escape the net too close
And fall on the shiny bonnets of cars below.

Around Khandala and Lonavala,
The green slopes are veined with waterfalls,
White at a distance, and gorgeous closeby
Streaming or gurgling wide and broad:
One I saw which fell on granite below straight
And formed spider-lily flowers on impact.
Water splits into different white petals
But unless you are fond of insects,
You wouldn’t like the name!

Last time, Tilaka and I, with Vidya and Baiju,
Stopped the Innova by the roadside
Before the Batan tunnel, with glorious
Waterfall on the left. Two cars in front
Had stopped but they were gazing from cars,
I removed my upper clothes and went in
The water like pestles thudding
Over my bald head, makin g my head
Bob up and down like the body
Of some small bird, say, a tailor-bird
That cannot be still like our minds.

It was cold in the beginning
To settle into luxuriant soak
Enveloping me with warm feeling
Making me move and adjust parts
Like my shoulders, forearms, fingers
Inclined to arthritis to be exposed
To Nature’s massage – no oily, sticky
Human hands, or feet, thank you.
Didn’t feel like moving out, half-blind
Till I saw a young girl, wet and shy
With golden clothes pushing, backing
From the front. I took the hint,
And vacated the place from under the falls.

Climbed up from below, and behind
The car, dried myself with the towel,
Got into dry change after the women
Had used and screened themselves
To change inside the van itself,
And Baiju clicking photographs
Till we drove off. In the car as we entered
The tunnel, I am told that the Police guys
On mo-bike had come to warn us
That sometimes stones from above
Get dislodged and fall along with water.
Everybody had a good word for police
For this social conscience they exhibit,
Though, rarely!


Merely to see so much of open sky,
And surrounded by layers of green hills,
Darkish at distance, and blue still farther,
Is an invigorating experience for me during
Any time of the year, and especially in monsoon.
What with the rains, the waterfalls and the hills,
I am ready to travel the route any number of times.