dance bars in bahrain

so, the dance bars have closed down in mumbai. but here in bahrain, the tradition continues. only that the women aren't as beautiful, and the music worse - Imagine a mallu couple singing hindi and bhangra numbers with a mallu accent. the crowd - same 'ol middle-aged or the more ancient; weatherbeaten faces enraptured with the jhatkas and the matkas (that's what their bums were like).

the crucial difference. no showering the girls with 10 rupee notes. just 20 dinar tiaras to crown their heads per song. or for the poorer cousin, fake pearl string for 5.

the rest as usual. exorbitantly priced drinks, bad lighting and the usual slimy handshake from the manager. an unusually ugly woman (presumably) the owner's daughter hovered around, dispensing drinks, and even summoning bouncers, when a sot got out of hand. there couldn't be a perfect contrast - the nautch girls in shiny lehengas and this mistress of decadence. you could almost feel sorry for her.

but i hope it gets better. you see, the girls are on a temp visa for a month or two. then new faces, new moves, new boobs.

desperation

the mist strings the daffodils
along the long, lonely road
that runs under my feet

the earth heaves, rivers roil
and the rain slant-eyed crashes
down in bolts of revengeful love

where the moss green melts into
the dead tree, the deader stone
there's none to see, none to hear

anyone lived in a pretty how town

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

e.e.cummings

Men and Women? Of course we're different. All men get insecure and all women get jealous

4th March, 2005

Pats is dead. And he won’t deal with this earth no more. He won’t talk, won’t dream and won’t wake up for a toast of rum.

the poor have no caste but poverty itself