Short Story: Varanasi From Three Dollars A…

Short Story: Varanasi From Three Dollars A Night (book! Online! Now!)

In our early hobo days,

packs on backs, ‘nichts’ would faze

our “far-out-man!” approach to life…

just a roll and pocket knife,

a hunk of cheese-- these would suffice

for meals, and when it came to night

some talks, some laughs, some candlelight.

Our sleeping bags thrown on the floor,

perhaps our head jammed by the door,

fellow snoozers right and left,

we were a tribe, and as for theft,

as we had ‘nichts’—that’s naught to lose

just our passports and our shoes

tucked in as pillows at our heads….

but now we yearn for king size beds

with fresh white sheets, and bath attached!

“Those curtains there—are they mismatched??”

And car-and-driver within reach

or decent room right on the beach...

Those hobo days, they are long past

on third class trains I’d never last.

Creature comforts gain with age

their hold on one, stage by stage

and so it is when booking trips,

hostels lose their budget grips.

Mystic trips with “Baba-Ji”s

and all that lot, when overseas

have lost their magic hold on me.

So now I plan ahead and book

guesthouse stays, and have a look

ahead of time at their rooms,

pics online, so nothing looms

as space unknown--- the three-buck-night

in Ganges dives would be a fright.

I’ve grown too soft, but also know

the rupees spent, the dollars flow,

the “trickle down effect” is for

the greater good of many more

it also mitigates my shame—

ah, to be so young again.